I asked my daughters to dance with me to a fun song that came on while we were cleaning. I started dancing and called them over. They looked at me like if I was nuts. I wanted them to join me. I see them dancing all the time, I thought this would be easy for them. It wasn't. I came to the conclusion they already have in their mind and behaviors fear, displayed through shyness. I know they can dance, so what was it about dancing with me that made them shy away? Well I asked my little one. I got the response "I just didn't feel like it". But this was not until later in the evening after a much more disappointing and tragic set of events.
There is a tragic part of this story that scares me to share. But I am trying to be as genuine as I can with bringing my shadow into the light so I've decided to share. This is embarrassing, it shows my vulnerability, insecurity, and weakness. When I saw my daughters look at me like if I was a fool, an overwhelming defense came rushing from my stomach to my head. I got full on angry. Something loving and fun turned into a moment of defeat and disappointment. I turned into a 4th grader in about ten seconds. I raised my voice at my littlest daughter and said something as follows. "How come you're looking at me as if I'm stupid. I'm not afraid to be silly, but the way you look at makes me feel like an idiot. At least I have the courage to dance. Look at you you're scared." She turned white as a ghost and had that nervousness that I remember as child where the only thing to do was look off to side wearing a timid smirk. I defended myself against my 10 year old daughter's shyness revealed as a condescending look. She shut down quick and my understanding of the situation didn't get any better.
After witnessing her sadness and even possibly fear, I continued. I satisfied my ego's desire to be this movie like dad. You know, the dad that can dance silly with his daughters, teaching them the cathartic value of rhythm and flow. The motivation being more about me feeling like a good dad than me just wanting to dance with my daughters. So I took it to an egotistical fiasco that might scar for life. I started investigating why I got the look and why they refused to dance. I obviously got nothing from either daughter. This moved me from investigator to victim.
I took the victim route. I persisted, following my daughters into their room. At this point my intentions to dance had morphed into this tragic flare up of my ego to protect the rejected and insecure father facade. I broke out into an emotional expression of how important it is for them to learn to dance. It became about how much I wanted them to be liberated from judgment. It became about me wanting them to cherish their childhood moments with me. It became about me wanting to have memorable silly moments to compliment the rough and stressful ones. All of us in tears by now, my last guilt filled request was that if something happened to me that they would promise me to always try and dance with their children, even if they laugh at them. I am far from the movie dad, far from the patient man I feel I need to be, but being a born again optimist, I realize that seeing me passionate about being a father might reveal the complexity and hazards of wanting what is best but not really knowing what that is.
So what this means for me is that there is so much going on in my head, so much concerned analyzing, sometimes I use too many moments to mold them into the courageous women I'd like them to become. I lose sight of what they are willing to accept. The key piece to this is the use of "I". I rarely ask them what they'd like to learn. It's what I think they need to learn. I rarely ask them what they already know. I spend so much of my time trying to teach, that I lose touch with the importance of learning. I think I have learned that opportunities to teach have intruded my willingness to learn. It is ironic that my love for them distorts my ability to empower them. I wanted to dance with my daughters, but forgot the most important step of asking them if they felt like dancing. I call myself an egotistical teacher because when my love is grounded in fear, I impose my lessons. I look for what scares me and my ego moves to teach solutions. My daughters might never know the importance of being liberated by dance, but if I push it on them they definitely will never know the true meaning of empowerment.
Elena and Veronica please forgive me. There is no manual for being your dad, just this broken and fumbling boy who finds himself now a father.
Through him, with him, and in him.
