When I was younger, one of my favorite events was the annual daddy-daughter dance. I would get all dressed up, spending way too much time getting ready. My dad would always kneel down to my height and slip the itchy strap of the corsage onto my hand as my mom took pictures for my grandmother. There was always so much excitement, getting ready and walking into the beautifully decorated school entrance, seeing all of my friends dressed up and dancing with their dads. Before we left, my dad would always ask if I was going to hang out with him, or run off with my friends as I usually did. My response was always something like “Of course I’ll dance with you the whole time!”, or “I promise I won’t run off with my friends this year!” I always knew I should have danced with my father, but of course I would go back on my word and run away with my friends.

When I was in the sixth grade, my friends and I wanted to sneak into a meeting room deeper into the school, Holy Name. I told my dad I had to go to the bathroom, and ran out of the dance to find my five friends. I felt bad for leaving my dad, but I told myself I would only hang out with my friends for a few minutes. We all walked until the music faded and the hallway became darker. The six of us snuck through the church that was connected to Holy Name and tip-toed into a dark, eerie meeting room. We ran in and immediately climbed onto the large tables, dancing and laughing, thinking we were the most rebellious 12 year olds ever. Suddenly we all realized that we might get caught by the school janitor, and of course ignoring my conscience, I helped devise a plan to hide in case we were to get caught. The best I could come up with was to hide behind the curtains and inside the closet just in case the janitor came in.

After what seemed like eternity, we finally heard those anticipated steps, of whom could only be the school janitor, stomping down the hallway. Everyone tried to run into the closet at the same time. It was then that we realized then our plan was not very good- we didn’t talk about who would hide in the closet and who would hide behind the curtains! We all pushed each other out of the way to fit into the tiny closet, laughing with excitement and anxiety. Some of my friends finally dashed across the room and hid behind the curtains. The door knob shook and the creaky door opened swiftly. For a second, we thought we had all gotten away with it. The janitor came in silently, stood there, and then finally said, “You are not allowed to be back here! You! Behind the curtains! Leave!” The girls tried to hold back their laughter as they screamed “Sorry!!” and ran straight out of the room.

“That was so close, I cannot believe the janitor didn’t hear us in the closet!!” one of my friends whispered. I began to creep out of the closet and tip-toed to the door to see if the janitor was out of sight. As I watched him turn the corner, I laughed and told the rest of my friends that we were fine. We thought about how lucky it was that the rest of us weren’t caught, and laughed even harder when we talked about how our other friends got busted. I realized then that we had been gone a while and that my dad was probably wondering where I was. We slipped out of the meeting room and entered back into the dance as if nothing had happened.

Even though I never got caught in the meeting room, I continued to feel guilty. I always thought the guilt came from sneaking into a forbidden room. When I analyze that night, I realize that the pang of guilt eats my stomach when I think about how I chose my friends over my dad, and how I continuously did so every year. I told myself I would dance with my dad the whole entire dance. Well, most of the dance. Okay, maybe just a few songs. But every year I danced for a bit, ran off, then came back at the end. Looking back at it, I wished I had dance with my dad more. I realize dancing with my dad will always be more important than hanging out with my school friends. I love seeing my friends, but not as much as I love dancing with my dad.