On the Father's Day before my father entered a nursing home, I gave him an Elmo doll. Like the colored pencils and sketchbook I bought him a year earlier, this was a desperate attempt to bring some joy to my increasingly bedridden father. Years ago, my father suffered a stroke which left him in bed for the rest of his life.

At the sight of Elmo, my three elder sisters shook their heads, certain that our father who was anything but childish would not like it. Sure enough, my father, 76, broke into that unpleasant smile that barely concealed his dislike.

“What on earth is this?” shouted my sisters, bursting into laughter.

“Daddy knows why I give him this,” I said, thinking that they had no idea what Elmo meant to my father. To my disappointment, my father shrugged. How could he not remember? Years earlier, I had been in the kitchen and heard something rare from the living room: laughter. I ran downstairs and saw that Elmo was on the PBS cooking show “The Frugal Gourmet”. “I don’t know what it is about him that gets to me,” my father choked out between laughter and tears. “He's just so funny!”

As my father lay in the nursing home, I would visit him in the evenings. We watched old movies with the lights off. Even though he never asked for it, I brought Elmo from home and put him where my father could see him. Before leaving, I would take Elmo from the dresser and place him in my father’s immobile arm. A slight smile would appear on his face. It never looked softer.

Glancing at the large room through her blue eyes, four-year-old Nicole in her oversize short skirt began to cry. "It's okay: honey.” I tried to encourage." Come and play with the other children.” But the more I persuaded, the more tears flowed.

Every week for the past eighteen years, I've spent Tuesdays with a dozen kids dressed in satin ribbons, feathers, butterfly wings and plastic jewelry. These afternoons are free flowing and non-threatening but for some strange reason, Nicole saw this as the final kiss of death.

In her mind, she was going to be left all alone with a strange woman and several other children. Uncontrollable tears rapidly started to flow and there wouldn't be enough tissues in the whole building to mop up the flood.

Tip toeing quickly to the door, I gently called to her father." Just sit in here for a while until she warms up.” I said. Standing next to his first born, Rich took his daughter's hand and led her to the centre of the room. Slowly he pushed, but again the damn broke. "Daddy, don't leave me!" Nicole cried. "Don't make me do this." Bending down on his knees until they were nose-to-nose, Rich gently whispered in her ear, “I'll do it with you. There's nothing to be afraid of." Holding her entire young hand around his middle two fingers, the pair went on to skip around the floor.

“Wow!" I cheered. "You deserve a prize. I've never seen a dad do that before.”

For a brief second, Rich paused, and then with a smile, he replied, "Isn't this part of the job?"'

That wonderful moment was two years ago and I've thought of it often, especially when I see how well Nicole performs in class. More importantly, however, I've remembered it because it takes me back to my own dance beginnings with my father.

From the moment I was born, music spoke to me. The moment the radio or record player was turned on, I moved my arms and legs about the room in wild fashion. Most of the time, I was fine to perform alone, but the minute my dad walked into the room, I'd jump into his arms, hug him tight and place my tiny feet on top of his highly shined shoes.

While this memory is sweet, the real reason I hold it dear to my heart is because of what went behind his action. My father was not the most gifted creature on two legs when it came to dancing, but he'd stepped out of his comfort zone(区域）and danced because he knew how much I loved it. For him, helping his only daughter develop, despite how uncomfortable it made him feel, was part of his job.

As a child, my father did what he was told and lived as expected But when it came to his own children, he allowed us the chance to follow our own path and we were never forced to be like him, live like him or think like him. He provided an environment where my three brothers and I were permitted to explore our own jungle until we found the life that was right for us.

To all the fathers who've influenced your children's lives by stepping out of your comfort zones to dance, whether it is in mind, body or soul--this one's for you! You give a child the courage to stand on the center stage of life.