It’s been a few weeks now, maybe even more, since my 5 year old started complaining about how much she hates recess between class. Little people little problems. Though, I sensed to her, this was really a big deal.
My wife sat on her bed, a week ago and we strategized as a family, Dad, sister and all. No one could come up with ways my 5 year old could enjoy recess. I knew something bigger was going on, but couldn’t figure it out.
My 5 year old’s body language changed.
She started pushing her face into mine. Being very physically aggressive. She constantly put her nose on mine, then giggled about how funny Daddy looks with one eye.
The physical attention became suffocating, hurtful. We had to ask her to stop.
I started giving her direct eye contact. Spending time sitting on her bed at night, listening to her talk about anything or nothing. We ran errands together, and I made her every bath and helped her get dressed for bed.
One evening she revisited her dislike with recess. "I hate recess," she said.
I thought about our past responses, her body language over the past few weeks and how our relationship was changing, becoming closer, more connected.
I said, "Me too. When I was your age, I hated recess too."
"Why?," she asked in shock, smiling.
"I never knew who to play with, and never knew what to do."
"Paul and Andrew told me I don’t know how to play handball," she said, sadly.
Ah, I reflected. Here is her issue. She wants to play handball, but thinks she can not because she is not getting any positive support. No surprise from a couple of boys who do not respect their mother.
"Ask them how to play," I said. Surprise filled her face. She looked away, with the dawn of a grin.
"What?"
"Ask them how to play, if they don’t think you know how."
"I know how to play," even though she admitted to not being good at it. Though, winning and losing didn’t matter.
I continued giving her suggestions on how to address this issue with the boys – and she repeated my words – I raised my voice in a congratulatory tone, and she jumped with excitement. No joke.
This was the best gift ever, a father could give a daughter, and a daughter could give a father. After repeating her strategy, she confidently told me how she would approach the next recess and was beaming with great light.
My mother used to have this gift. She would stand in the doorway of my bedroom when she thought times were tough. Many times she wouldn’t say anything at all, but I knew she was always there. In my own way, I did the same thing, and will let you know how it works out.
I, for one, never played handball.
Comments are closed.