“You’re not doing it right!”

“We’re dancing!” 

“Not the way I wanted!”

“Sweetheart, c’mon, it’s a dance party.”

“It’s MY DANCE PARTY!!!”

[storms off]

But from my observations, it must be tough. 

You’re eager to learn, old enough to feel capable of doing things on your own, but woefully unaware of your shortcomings as a risk analyst.

Everyone is telling you what to do (nowadays it’s lots of suggesting, but underneath the veneer it’s telling) and since your primary mode of reasoning is inference, you get the sense that it’s normal for people to tell each other what to do. 

Except when you try to tell someone else—like your parents—what to do, you’re met with some version of “Sorry kiddo, that’s not how it works.” The rationale is barely coherent (from your point of view, at least), but parents control your access to dessert and toys, so you kind of have to move on, however begrudgingly.

To seek a deeper understanding of the unspoken rules of who gets to do what, when no one is telling you what to do, you do stuff. Like bring worms inside.

Sure, you could ask if it’s okay, but people make rules they don’t actually follow (“sweets are for after dinner”) and you prefer the unvarnished truth that comes from a gut reaction—like the sound your mom makes when she sees the worms.

You start to perceive certain things as being in your control.  

Your new sense of control is complemented by a growing sensitivity to inequities. Like your parents telling you not to fill up on bread (“Daddy it’s my dinner, I can eat it the way I want”). Your protests are met with mostly calm explanations that are generally acceptable but, unfortunately, reduce the scope of your control. 

Every day you are ping-ponged between Certainty and Confusion.

And every day, I, as the father and ping-pong paddle holder, preparing to rip another down-the-line forehand, ask myself: am I doing this right?

My wife and I want to give our daughter opportunities to be in control, to flex her autonomy, to explore her independence. She can climb trees (with a spotter), get her own snacks (ones we’ve selectively put on her shelf), and sometimes we even let her go off leash at the park. 

The other day, she requested that we join her after dinner for a dance party in the room that was once our dining room—back when we actually hosted dinner parties. 

So after the twins went down, we all gathered in “the dancing room.” And, because it was her party, she chose the song.

Her choice was the perfect representation of the perpetual pendulum swing between Certainty and Confusion. 

Also one of the hardest songs to dance to. 

You can’t blame her for being upset with our performance.

But tell me, dear reader, how would you dance to this song?

Thanks for reading! Hope you laughed. See you next time.

-Will

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