If You See a Turtle on a Fencepost . . .
. . . you’ll know that critter didn’t get there by itself. Why your daughter needs your encouragement to succeed in life.
I don’t like to admit this publicly, but I’ve sat through the Bachelorette series and watched HGTV, cooking shows, and Project Runway with my wife and daughters. But I did it for one reason: as a man, I have to be interested in things that people I love care about. In fact, if they don’t know that I care, they won’t care what I know.
The day your daughter walks out the door of your home will come far more swiftly than you can ever imagine. I have ushered all four of my daughters out the door to college and have already escorted three of those daughters down the aisle to wedded bliss. It all happened in the blink of an eye.
Step into Your Daughter’s World
Think back a few years, to when you first went to the dentist as a young kid. You hopped up to sit on the very edge of those uncomfortable waiting-room chairs, and your feet dangled. They were nearly numb, as much as you wiggled them, before your name was called. Then you climbed up the mountain of that strange chair and glimpsed all the shiny metal contraptions resembling torture devices from your nightmares. While you waited, you squeezed your eyes shut, imagining that dentist drill or shot coming your direction . . . closer, closer . . . and lived in terror of the moment.
The world can be a big, scary, confusing place when you’re young.
Voices are constantly calling out to your daughter—teachers with different values than yours, teen blogs, YouTube snippets that flaunt sexy poses, and music videos that highlight the short shelf life of relationships, “romance” (all in the guise of sex), and marriage. Kids left on their own don’t have the experience or maturity to adequately filter these voices.
When Hannah was seven years old, she had a toy computer that “talked” to her in simple, prerecorded language: “Welcome. Please select a category now.”
One day, two-year-old Lauren turned it on.
This is gonna be good, I mused, curious to see what Lauren would do with a talking box.
“Welcome,” the computer said. “Please select a category now.”
Lauren didn’t know what to do, so she just sat there. After fifteen seconds or so, the computer said again, “Please select a category now.”
Lauren sighed in exasperation. Cupping her hands around her mouth, she bent down toward the computer and called out, “Lady, I’m only two years old.”
As those voices of life surround your daughter, she needs the benefit of your wisdom and past experiences to avoid many of the mistakes you may have made in life. That’s why when divorced dads tell me, “I don’t talk to my daughter about relationships. After all, what do I have to say? My own marriage failed,” I have a blunt comeback.
“That’s exactly the reason you should say something to your daughter—so she’ll avoid making the same mistakes you and your ex did in your relationship.”
No, you can’t fix everything in your daughter’s life, and you shouldn’t. She needs room to grow, learn, and make her own mistakes along the way to hone her character. Not allowing her to make her own decisions, making excuses for her, and snowplowing her roads of life will only result in a weak-willed, wishy-washy adult who thinks everyone exists in this world to serve her. No daughter should be reared to be the center of the universe. But she does need to feel prized, appreciated, and an important part of your family.
If you can walk away with only one thought from this book, let it be this: what your daughter thinks of herself and the way the world works has everything to do with you, Dad. If you haven’t taught her by your words and actions what’s important in life and how valuable she is as a unique human being, she’ll become whoever she thinks she’s supposed to be to fit in with her peers.
What your daughter thinks of herself and the way the world works has everything to do with you, Dad.
But a girl who has been loved and cared for by her father in a close daddy-daughter connection will be equipped to say no to a peer group who demands, “Hey, be like us.” Her response in her heart? Why should I? My daddy says I should be myself. He loves me, he’s there for me, and he likes who I am, just as I am. There is no better antidote to peer pressure than a father’s continual affirmation and active presence.
Stop right there. Note that I used the word continual. We guys can tend to be list checkers. “Okay, got the ‘marriage’ job done. Check.” Or, “Yup, got the ‘encourage the daughter’ job done. Check.” But fatherly affirmation doesn’t come in one big “I’m proud of you” speech, after which you heave a sigh of relief, get your man-card back, and then whistle happily as you walk away into the wild blue yonder. The affirmation comes in lots of little ways over the years of your relationship.
Here are a couple of examples from my relationship with my second daughter, Krissy.
If it were left up to us males to remember birthdays, anniversaries, and any other important days, I’m convinced there wouldn’t be nearly as many celebrations on this earth. Usually we guys leave those up to the females of the family, whom we assume are more naturally programmed to deal with those sorts of events. But I decided early on in my parenting that I wanted to be an engaged dad with my girls, not merely a dad who always passed the buck to his wife to sign cards and buy presents on behalf of both of us.
Funny thing: when Krissy married, she told me one of the things she remembered most clearly about growing up was that I signed many of her birthday cards instead of Sande.
Daughters notice these things, Dad. Don’t think they don’t. Little things matter, especially to the females in your life.
Krissy also remembers that, on her thirteenth birthday, I went to a jewelry store and designed an amethyst ring for her. To this day, she still has it. It’s the gift from her childhood she says she cherishes most because it took initiative on my part to pick it out, design it, and purchase it. Would I have been more comfortable with my artsy wife doing it? You bet! But being a good dad means stepping outside your comfort zone for the sake of your daughter.
The day will come when your daughter’s personality, character qualities, and affections will be formed. When that day comes, what memories do you want her to have of her daddy?
Shortly after she moved to college, Krissy wrote Sande a letter that included these words:
You and Dad have taught me so much. If it wasn’t for your guidance, love, and discipline, I would never make it here at college. The morals you have taught me are now the characteristics I cling to, especially now that I’m on my own.
There’s nothing better than finding out, when a daughter is grown, that she has internalized the values you’ve taught over the years and has chosen to live by them. That’s what I mean by “the indelible imprint” of a father.
Dad, your daughter needs your help to gain confidence as she grows into a woman and to find her unique role in the world. That means she needs you to be interested in what she’s interested in, at the time she’s interested in it. Your daughter won’t be interested in the same things when she’s five as she will when she’s fifteen. You have to go with the flow as her life and interests change. But what she needs most will stay consistent—your encouragement.
My dad was a great provider, but he was the strong, silent type. We kids rarely interacted with him, except at the dinner table, where every night he asked each of us how our day went. We mainly reported events and didn’t get into any touchy-feely stuff. I know my dad loved me, but he never spoke the words.
A month ago my wife and I attended a seminar of yours at a nearby church. You talked about “connecting with your daughter’s heart.” That phrase was like learning a new language, since I grew up in a family of four boys and now I have four girls, ages two through six. (Yeah, God has a sense of humor.) That thought sparked a lot of discussion between my wife and me. As crazy as it may sound, we had to brainstorm ways for me to connect with my daughters, because you’re right—I did tend to parent the way my dad parented me, leaving the rearing of the girls up to my wife.
A lot has changed in the last three weeks. I used to come in the door quietly after work and try to escape straight to our bedroom to take a shower and wash my workday out of my head. Now when I come in the door, I make a great show of closing the door and calling dramatically, “Daddy’s home!” All four girls rush to the door screaming, “Daddy!” and wrap themselves around my legs. Then I shuffle my way with four extra appendages into the kitchen to give my wife a big smooch, which always brings a loud “yuck” from my oldest daughter. It’s now an everyday tradition. Hey, there’s nothing like being greeted by five adoring females to boost a guy’s ego! I’m learning to enjoy the cuddles and view the world through their eyes. Now I also read to them for an hour after dinner so my wife can have some quiet time. Then I finally get my shower.
Last night, Melody, our five-year-old, was sitting on my lap as I was reading. She turned around, reached up, and grabbed my face. Her blue eyes stared into mine. “Daddy, you’re d’frent,” she said.
Yes, this daddy is “d’frent.”
—Kurt, Wisconsin
That Little Nudge of Encouragement
If you see a turtle on a fencepost, you know that critter didn’t get there on its own. It had a little nudging . . . or a lot of nudging . . . to attain its lofty position. In the same way, your daughter needs nudges of encouragement in order to be motivated to rise to the top of the fencepost.
Do you have any idea how powerful these two words are: Good job?
What are you really saying? A bucket load: “Wow, you went after that difficult science project and gave it your all, even though that subject is hard for you. That speaks mountains to me about your character and determination. Those are the kind of qualities that will set you up for a lifetime.” We men, who sometimes struggle to get out more than a grunt, need to remember how significant even a few words can be to the person on the hearing end of them.
Do you have any idea how powerful these two words are: Good job?
How about trying, “Wow, that has to make you feel good inside,” after your daughter has learned a new soccer technique or memorized a piano piece for a recital?
But notice what I’m not saying: “I’m so proud of you. You’re the best (soccer player/musician) ever!” That would be blowing smoke, since there is always someone in the world who will be better.
The other day I saw a three-year-old boy with a Mohawk. The mother cooed, “Oh, Ethan, don’t you look cool in that haircut—the coolest little boy I ever saw.” That’s false praise, and not even a three-year-old is stupid enough to fall for it. I turned the corner and saw a five-year-old girl with the collar turned up on her polo shirt. She was walking with a man who appeared to be her father. He, too, had the collar turned up on his polo shirt. Like father, like daughter. In the same way, many parents treat their children like trophies to show off, lauding their own parental accomplishments rather than rearing children to become capable, giving adults.
Our job is not to create look-alikes of ourselves or perfect models. Our job is to encourage the individual skills and talents of each of our daughters.
So the next time your daughter comes home with a report card, don’t say, “Wow, you’re so smart. Check out that A!” Instead, say, “Wow. You’ve worked so hard to pull your grade up in math. That B+ must make your heart smile. Great job!” That’s effective encouragement that will keep your turtle motoring onward and upward.
Simply stated, there’s a big difference between praise and encouragement.
Praise focuses on the person. “Oh, Katherine, you’re the cutest girl ever!”
Encouragement focuses on the act. “Katherine, I’ve noticed that you work hard to always look nice. I appreciate that effort, and your mother told me it makes her smile all over too.” What does your daughter take from those few words? Wow, my dad notices. And cool, it makes my mom feel good too. Even better, the two of them talked about me in a really great way.
Dad, you just used the wonderful technique of “good gossip”—passing along something nice that someone else said about your daughter. It packs a powerful punch. Think about it. If a coworker told you that your boss said you were doing a great job and he was impressed, wouldn’t that make you feel good? Wouldn’t you work a little harder that day? Wouldn’t the sun shine a little brighter when you popped outside for your lunch break?
Now, let me ask you: How many minutes did that take out of your day? If you talk fast, bet it was under a minute. You’ve still got 1,439 minutes left to spend in your day! But most likely, nothing else you do or say that day will have the long-term impact of that one minute with your daughter.
Your daughter doesn’t care what you know until she knows you care.
Little nudges take only a moment but last a lifetime.
Your daughter doesn’t care what you know until she knows you care.
A few words, a simple arm around the shoulder, a hug, a “good job,” a note—all those little things stack up to a mountain of encouragement in your daughter’s life.
Grace-Based Fathering
Shelli was a responsible eleven-year-old. She always kept track of her homework and whatever else she needed to bring to school. But during the first week of sixth grade everything fell apart. One day, Shelli left her lunch sitting on the counter at home. The next day, she forgot her math homework. The day after that, she only brought two of the three items for her science project. Her dad, Matt, is a firstborn and precise to the extreme. I don’t think the guy ever walks out of his door without his suit on and every hair slicked down. But since his wife was traveling for her company, Matt was the one who got the SOS calls from his daughter. To say he was annoyed was an understatement. When Matt was at work as the CEO, he was at work, and no one interrupted him. But he also had a smart assistant who pointed out to him what was most important—that he retain his relationship with his daughter.
When he cooled down, Matt realized that his daughter was in one of the biggest transitions of her life. She was entering middle school, where she had not one classroom but a different room and requirements for every subject. No wonder the kid was off kilter. She was juggling a lot. It reminded him of when he first became CEO of the engineering firm, and he constantly felt overwhelmed by the responsibilities. That afternoon, when he picked her up from school, he had a discussion with Shelli quite different from the “hammering her for dropping the ball” one he’d planned earlier in the day.
“Middle school is sure different, isn’t it, Shell? So much to keep track of . . . ,” he said casually while they were driving home.
She slumped in the seat and nodded. “Yeah. It’s hard.”
“Kinda reminds me of when I first became CEO, when you were in third grade. There was so much to do, and I always felt like I was dropping the ball at home and at work. And sometimes I did.”
Shelli sat up, looking startled. “You did?”
“Sure I did. Nobody is perfect, and I’m certainly not.”
She was quiet a minute, then simply said, “Wow.”
Matt plunged on. “One of the things that helped me was brainstorming with a guy I trusted how to make it all work. Mmm, maybe you and I could brainstorm. Is there anything that might make it easier for you with all the things going on in middle school?” he prompted.
She looked surprised. “Uh, well, I’ve been thinking . . . if I had one of those erasable boards with the weeks and days marked, so I could write on it, that would help.”
He smiled. “Sounds like a plan. Want to stop by Office Depot? It’s right on the way home. You can pick out whatever you want, and I’ll spring for it. Anything for my girl.”
Now, think how different that conversation could have turned out if Matt had gone with his first gut and spouted off, telling his daughter what a loser she was for not remembering things.
Everyone makes mistakes. Everyone struggles with transitions. Sometimes what your daughter needs most is for you to give her a break.
Sometimes what your daughter needs most is for you to give her a break.
It’s called grace-based parenting. Your daughter forgets an important book at school, and you drive her back to pick it up. Do you do that all the time? No, because children need to be held accountable for their actions. That’s the best way to learn, even though the process can be painful. But sometimes you need to give each other grace and room to maneuver. Think about the times you’ve blown your top and said something you wish you hadn’t to your daughter, and she’s forgiven you. Now that’s grace—getting something you don’t deserve. Shouldn’t she be able to count on the same thing from you when she has a single bad day, or several in a row?
Combating Perfectionism
Of all the people on the planet, young women are the ones who understand more than anyone the toll perfectionism can take. The drive to always be right, always be pretty, always be smart, always be popular, and always be perfect has wreaked more havoc on the female population than anything else I know. It’s led to anorexia, bulimia, depression, and suicide attempts, among other things.
The margin of error for females today is way too narrow. If she gains five pounds while in a growth spurt, she’ll moan to her friends, “I’m getting fat.” If she gets solid Bs on her report card, she’ll compare with someone who got mostly As and think, I’m so dumb. If she doesn’t get asked to the homecoming dance, she’ll think she’s ugly and that no one likes her. Girls tend to amplify their own shortcomings and assume that others somehow walk on a perfect cloud. But even supermodels have morning breath and get hair tangles, and somebody has to apply their makeup in the right way to enhance their natural features. Nobody dares to put their picture on a magazine until they’ve been worked over. Even then, the final is airbrushed to perfection. Yet the majority of teenage girls still compare themselves against this impossible standard in regard to beauty.
The margin of error for females today is way too narrow.
That’s why it’s critical, Dad, that you accept your daughter as she is. She needs a male to adore her, affirm her, relate to her, and build her up regardless of whether she’s a klutz, she wears size-12 jeans in a high school teeming with size-6 bodies, or she’s the “plain Jane” among her bunch of friends. Every girl longs to be seen for who she is, accepted for who she is, and valued for who she is. It’s one of the reasons the music video “You Belong with Me” by Taylor Swift became an almost instant hit with girls ages eight and up across the nation. Girls who are more “plain Jane” could now dream of the day when that sweet, handsome boy at school would look beyond their simple T-shirts and sneakers, see the treasures they are, and realize, What I’ve been looking for has been here the whole time. Then that sweet, handsome boy would, of course, throw over that cheerleader girlfriend and decide, “You Belong with Me.”1
Contrast that with one of Taylor Swift’s later videos, “I Knew You Were Trouble,” which describes a girl who was attracted to the wrong kind of guy and, as a result, “lost her balance.” The comment at the end of the video is cryptic: “I don’t know if you know who you are until you lose who you are.”2
Does your daughter know who she is? What kind of reflection does she see of herself in her daddy’s eyes? Does she know she always belongs with you and that you never consider her to be average? That you prize and appreciate her?
That’s why my friend Evan said to his high school freshman daughter on the first week of school, “Wow, great job putting that outfit together. You look really artsy—just like you. That oughta make some boys’ heads turn at school,” and he winked at her.
Of course, he got the signature teenage girl line: “D-a-a-a-a-d!” But inside she was thinking, Cool. I look good. My dad thinks I look good. Maybe other boys will too. And for a girl entering high school, that gave her the confidence boost she needed to step into new territory with her head held high.
Smart dad. A girl like that isn’t going to fall for any lame line from a lust-ridden senior.
What can a dad do to help his daughter in such a perfectionistic world?
Teach Her How to Fail . . . Well
I want my daughters to know that my acceptance is unconditional. Succeed or fail, I’ll love each of them the same. My love and acceptance aren’t based on them being the prettiest, the most athletic, the most charming, the smartest, and certainly not the thinnest girls around. All I ask is that, whatever they decide to do, they give it their best shot. If they succeed, wonderful. If they fail, they can fail well. By that, I mean they can do so with a good attitude and evaluate what they’ve learned along the way.
Does your daughter have freedom to fail? Or do you expect her always to win? Does she feel your unconditional love, no matter what happens? Or is there disappointment, verbal or unspoken, that crushes her? Sadly, too many girls write themselves off as failures because they never quite “made it” in their daddy’s eyes. They saw or felt his judgment, disappointment, and criticism, and they internalized the mantra that they have nothing to offer the world. They couldn’t be more wrong.
We’re all imperfect. No one can bat a hundred out of a hundred every time. But take a look around. God Almighty is using a lot of imperfect people to make positive marks on this planet.
Does your daughter have freedom to fail? Or do you expect her always to win?
Thomas Edison didn’t get the light bulb right the first time. He had to fail, and fail, and fail—in fact, more than one thousand times—before he succeeded. Many people thought Thomas Edison’s elevator didn’t go all the way to the top, and that Albert Einstein, who developed the theory of relativity, was a few fries short of a Happy Meal. A lot of other brilliant people have also been written off.
Even the basketball great Michael Jordan experienced his share of failure. As he says, “I’ve missed more than 9,000 shots in my career. I’ve lost almost 300 games. 26 times I’ve been trusted to take the game winning shot and missed. I’ve failed over and over and over again in my life. And that is why I succeed.”3
Your daughter deserves the same opportunity to fail, so that later she might succeed. Others might write her off, but if her daddy believes in her, she can still fly high.
“Only those who dare to fail greatly can achieve greatly.”—Robert F. Kennedy
“Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.”—Samuel Beckett
“Failure provides the opportunity to begin again, more intelligently.”—Henry Ford
“Every strike is closer to the next home run.”—Babe Ruth
Flaunt Your Failures
If you want your daughter to handle her failures well, you better ’fess up about your own. Telling your daughter stories about yourself and the goofy, zany, and stupid things you’ve done in life is not only entertaining and fun; it’s a great way to take the pressure off your daughter’s internal self-talk. This is especially important to firstborn and only-born daughters who may tend to be perfectionistic and uptight, thinking they have to do things exactly right to please Dad.
Many of us dads work hard to stay perched on our pedestals. Frankly, it’s one of the most damaging things you can do as a dad. After all, if your daughter never sees how you handle failure, how can she learn to deal positively with her own?
I honestly believe that one of the reasons my books have done so well and why I’ve been asked to appear on so many national television shows is that I’m not your typical shrink. If you passed me on the street and didn’t know who I was, you’d never guess I was a professional psychologist. When I talk to people, I’m a regular guy. I share my failures, as well as the things I’ve learned along the way.
The same principle works in parenting. Are you a regular guy with your kids? Or do you try too hard to be perfect in their eyes?
Thirteen-year-old Jane threw down her pencil. “I’m stupid,” she told her dad. “Everybody else gets math, but I can’t get it. No matter how hard I try.” She burst into tears, ran to her room, and slammed the bedroom door shut.
Her dad, Alan, could relate more than she knew. With a little digging in their basement, he came up with a wad of old papers and knocked on her door. “I thought you might like to see these,” he said and handed them to her. They were math papers and tests from his seventh-grade year, with red Fs and Ds emblazoned all over them.
His daughter stared at them in shock.
“I understand your frustration more than you may think,” he said quietly, then left the papers with her in her room.
About an hour later, his daughter walked into his home office. “Uh, Dad, how did you handle not being good at math? I mean, you do stuff with it now for your job, right?”
Alan was able to share with his daughter how he’d felt stupid and like a failure all the way until his sophomore year of high school, when he finally had a teacher who pulled him aside and quietly worked with him for an hour after school each day to catch him up on the basics of math principles he’d somehow missed.
“Honey, you’re not stupid,” he explained. “Some of us just have to work a little harder in certain subjects. Guess you inherited your math gene from your dad. Sorry!” He grinned. “But the good thing is, now that I know how you’re feeling, we can work out a plan for getting you some help.”
“Thanks, Dad!”
When you flaunt your failures, your daughter’s failures are put in a more realistic perspective. And if you need to seek answers, you can seek them together, without her feeling stupid or like a failure.
Practice Saying “I’m Sorry,” and Say It Often
I’m a behavioral psychologist, so you’d think I, of all people, would know how to navigate my daughters and their emotions without wreaking havoc on the female population in my house. But sometimes I do it very wrong and have to say two of the hardest words for men to say—“I’m sorry.”
One morning, three-year-old Lauren was holding a biscuit in front of our dog, Barkley, and calling in a singsong voice, “Barkley, want a treat, want a treat? Barkley, want a treat, want a treat?”
Krissy and I thought Lauren looked so cute doing it that we called out the same thing to Lauren. “Lauren, want a treat, want a treat? Lauren, want a treat, want a treat?”
Without saying a word, Lauren slid off her stool and left the room.
“Uh-oh,” Krissy said. “I don’t think that went over very well.”
I walked into the next room and watched as Lauren gave me “the Look”—the same one my wife shoots me when I’m in big, big trouble. As I came closer to Lauren, she backed away and slowly stepped toward the stairs. I took one step forward; she took one step back. The process continued until she was at the landing. Then she slid on her stomach all the way down the stairs and fled into her downstairs bedroom, locking her door.
Krissy, being the peacemaker she is, tried talking to Lauren through the door. “We weren’t making fun of you. We thought you looked so cute and adorable, that’s all.”
Lauren gave me “the Look”—the same one my wife shoots me when I’m in big, big trouble.
With the tone that only an aggrieved child can muster, Lauren firmly announced, “You need to apologize.”
“I’m really sorry, Lauren. Honest, I am.”
“No, you need to write it down.”
Keep in mind, Lauren was only three years old. She couldn’t even read yet, but Krissy dutifully obeyed.
Even so, Lauren still wouldn’t open the door. “Daddy needs to apologize too,” she said through the still-locked door.
I came downstairs and said my piece, but attorney Lauren repeated the same thing to me. “You need to write it down too.”
I took out a piece of paper and wrote: Lauren, I am very, very sorry. I love you. Daddy.
Only after the two apologies were slipped under the door was Lauren willing to exit her room and relate face-to-face with each of us again.
Now, I’m the kind of guy who has to have his wife tell him the difference between a monkey wrench and a crescent wrench. I also can’t tell a carburetor from a starter. But one of the things I’m very, very good at—I should be, I’ve had lots of practice—is saying “I’m sorry” to my family members. I’m living proof that those two words are essential and powerful in establishing a trust relationship between a father and a daughter.
There are times when I haven’t even realized I hurt one of my daughters until after the fact. Then “the Look” told me instantly I was in trouble. But as soon as I reflected on the incident, I would immediately apologize. It’s amazing how a simple apology can melt away a daughter’s defiance and improve your relationship.
If it’s particularly difficult for you to utter these words, practice saying the phrase the next time you’re shaving. Start out with, “I’m . . .” and give yourself a ten-second pause. Then say, “. . . sorry.” The next time, cut the pause down to eight seconds, then six seconds, then four, then string the two words together. “I’m sorry,” spoken quickly, will be one of the most valuable tools you’ll ever learn to use as a dad.
Reveal Your Embarrassing Moments
All of us have embarrassing moments. They’re a part of life. Learning how to handle them is critical in your daughter’s battle against perfectionism. You can start by revealing some of your own.
“Kids, you won’t believe what I did,” I told my daughters after I’d completed a segment on Geraldo Rivera’s show. I explained that after the show his wife, CeCe, her parents, and I were standing in his dressing room, discussing what I’d shared about parenting. CeCe was intrigued by it.
When Geraldo arrived, I could see the first thing that flickered across his face: I thought we finished with this guy. Why’s he hanging around?
“Kids, you won’t believe what I did.”
“What happened next, Dad?” my kids wanted to know.
“Then I knocked Geraldo’s beer onto the floor.”
“No!”
“Yes. It broke and spilled all over the place.”
They laughed so hard I thought they’d need to make an emergency trip to the bathroom. “Really?” they squealed. “You knocked Geraldo’s beer to the floor in his dressing room?”
“Darn right I did. It was a Heineken.”
Our family had a good laugh. “I can’t believe you knocked over Geraldo Rivera’s beer,” they kept saying.
Why did I share this embarrassing story with my kids? Because middle school and high school—even grade school—kids often live in intense fear of being embarrassed. The worst thing that can happen to them, in many of their minds, is to be laughed at or to do something dumb. This is especially true of daughters. Their fragile psyches can be rocked for weeks over one remark.
That’s why I make it a practice to let my kids know about situations where I looked really bad. There I was, in a celebrity’s dressing room, and what did suave Dr. Leman do? He knocked the television host’s beer onto the floor!
So, Dad, tell them your stories. Don’t hold back on any of the self-incriminating details. It’s great therapy for kids to be able to laugh along with their parents. It models for them that it’s not only okay for us to laugh at ourselves—it’s a healthy response to embarrassing moments.
My kids know all about my foibles, including the fact that I am claustrophobic and have to sit in the front-row seat of an airplane or this weird feeling starts to tap-dance its way up my back, and I get downright panicky.
Everyone fails at times and has embarrassing moments. Understanding those realities and having them modeled by their dad, the male role model they respect the most, goes a long way toward putting those events in proper perspective when they do happen.
So I spilled Rivera’s beer on the floor. Still, life amazingly continued on with barely a ripple.
Don’t Measure Her Success by Her Achievements
When Holly first went away to college, our firstborn, straight-A student started pulling all Cs. Years later, when someone asked her how I responded, she said, “Dad didn’t overreact. His attitude was more, ‘They’re your grades and it’s your life; if these grades aren’t good enough, you’ll either bear the consequences or get the rewards.’ ”
Throughout their schooling, I imprinted my daughters with the value of a good education. But I never led them to believe that grades were all that mattered. In fact, I sometimes went overboard in the other direction. When our kids got their report cards, they knew I paid more attention to the teacher’s written character comments than I did to the actual grades. I wanted my daughters to know that what matters in the long run is the type of person you are, not the things you do.
But how many families spend every day of the week running from school to soccer, Girl Scouts, karate, music lessons, and who knows what else—all in the name of giving their kids a leg up on life? Are we so addicted to achievement that we’re willing to run ourselves and our children ragged to do it?
What matters in the long run is the type of person you are, not the things you do.
I know some three- and four-year-olds who are involved in four or more activities outside the home every week. Is that really good for a young child? No.
Is it okay for your high schooler to be so involved in afterschool activities that you barely see her from freshman year to senior year, except when she’s putting her hand out for the car keys? No, it’s not.
Sadly, we live in a society that rates achievement by how busy we are and how much we can get done. But is life truly all about running from place to place? If you’re rating your daughter’s achievement by how much she’s involved in, why would you expect her to do any different when she marries and your grandkids enter the picture? And are you likely to ever see her and your grandkids at your home for Christmas dinner?
Frenetic activity says one thing to your daughter: “Prove yourself.” Is that really what you want her to believe? That who she is right now isn’t good enough or valuable enough? That she has to continually run from place to place to prove her worth?
To build a lifelong, healthy daddy-daughter connection, focus on spending time together rather than on getting caught in the activity trap. Go out of your way to prove your love. Prove your commitment. Prove your affection. To a daughter, they’re all spelled out in one word: time.
A Good Dad’s Quick Reference Guide
• Affirm your daughter for who she is now.
• Give her freedom both to fail and to fly.