The first time: exploring the violin
The first time was innocent enough. I played violin when I was younger, so I was excited to get a violin the right size for my daughter. We unpacked it together, took it out of the case, put rosin on the bow, and tuned the strings. Then I showed my girl how to hold the violin under her chin, and where to put her left hand to support the instrument. She was all excited when I tightened the bow, and helped her by placing my fingers as she played “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.” But she was rambunctious, as usual, and I kept telling her to be careful.
“You must never touch the horsehair on the bow with your fingers. Oil from the fingers will damage the hair.”
“Be careful, just play between the bridge and the fingerboard.”
“Don’t let the violin slip from your chin. Hold it UP!”
“Careful; don’t bump the violin against the wall!”
I know, I know, even hearing it myself I knew it was too much. But we were doing so well and having such a good time. My little girl plucked the strings with her fingers.
“That’s good! That’s called pizzicato. Here, let me show you.”
My little girl put her hand up, as if to stop me. “OK, Daddy. That’s enough for today. I am going to do something else now.” And she went upstairs. She left me, just like that.
“Aren’t we going to play anymore?” I asked. No answer. I guess that was the answer. I realized, even as it was happening, that I overloaded her with information. At first it was OK, but then it got to be too much. And to her credit, she told me so.
The story, or at least this part of the story, has a happy ending. About two weeks later, after some intervening events which I will tell you about presently, we took the violin out again.
“Can I play with it?” she asked, looking me in the eyes as if to be sure.
“Sure, sweetie. Let me tune it for you.”
“No, I mean, can I play with it MY way?”
“OK, what do you mean?”
“I just want to play with it. Pluck the strings.”
“OK.”
“I don’t want to use the bow.”
“OK.”
So she took the violin, explored it front to back, plucked the strings here and there, and looked over at me to make sure I wasn’t going to take it away. She played with the violin carefully, but really explored it and examined it.
“Hey sweetie, how many strings do you have on your violin?”
“Four.” And she plucked them for me.
“Do they sound the same?”
“No, they are different. I want to bring it upstairs now. No bow.”
“OK, sweetie. Just be careful, OK?”
“OK, daddy, I won’t bang it on the walls.”
So this had a happier ending. What did I learn? I guess it was important for her to explore on her own, and to discover things without being told. Especially without being told what she was doing was wrong. She got familiar with the instrument, felt ownership, assured me she’d be careful, figured out there were 4 strings, and they sounded different. I would say that is a very successful exposure to the violin. And very different from the first exposure.
The second time: putting together the train set
Before I bask in the pride of being a good parent, I have to admit, I made the SAME mistake. Again. The second time, we were putting together the wooden train set she got for Christmas. I had put together the table first, and then we started on the tracks. She was opening bags, taking out trains, and I let her, since I was busy trying to put together the tracks with the roundhouse and curves, and bridges. It was hard to see, and I needed my reading glasses, which made everything else fuzzy, but no excuses. I tried to engage my girl.
“Come here, sweetie, this piece goes here. See the picture? Like this. Here, put this next piece over here.” I put it in her hand, and guided her hand to the spot. She pulled away.
“I need a snack, Daddy.”
When she got back, I continued putting pieces in her hand and making her place the tracks.
“I need some water, Daddy.”
“But you just got water and a snack!”
“I need to take a break.”
“Well, do you want to do this or not?” I became incensed. I was doing it for her, not for me. And if she didn’t want to do it….But wait, maybe I was doing it for me. So I caught myself.
“OK sweetie, let’s stop for today. We can continue this another time.” That evening, after she was asleep, I completed the entire track set and village. It wasn’t that I wanted to do it without her. It was just that it was more important that it be done so she could play with it. I decided I shouldn’t hold the train set hostage to get her to participate. It was for her to play with, not for her to assemble.
The next morning, when she saw the completed set and village, her eyes lit up. “Can I play with it, Daddy?”
“Of course, sweetie. It’s all yours.”
After a while playing with the trains on the bridges and tunnels, she began to change the layout. “Can I move this, Daddy?”
“Yes, sweetie, do whatever you want. Let me know if you want me to help you.”
“OK. I just want you to come watch me.” So I did. I resisted the temptation to volunteer any suggestions. I was just available to help or to answer, and I paid attention to what she was doing. So far, so good.
The third time: making cookies
That brings is to episode 3. My girl wanted to bake cookies, and we had a lot of cookie mix. As usual, we got the mixer out together, measured out the butter, and broke the eggs. But this time, she wanted to use the cookie cutters instead of make round drop cookies. “Great!” I said. “We’ll roll out the dough like this.” She wanted to roll it out, but the rolling pin kept sticking to the dough.
“We have to add some flour to the pin so it won’t stick.”
“Oh, OK.”
“Don’t cut the cookies randomly, here and there. Cut them as close together as possible and still have complete dough coverage in the cutters. Here, like this.”
“Don’t pick it up with your fingers. See how they fall apart? Here, use a spatula.”
“Step back. You need to let me open the oven door and step back so you don’t get burned.”
She stepped back and then left the room. “Where’d you go? Don’t you want to see the cookies go in?”
“I stepped back so I wouldn’t get burned, Daddy.”
“Hey, sweetie, I’m sorry. Here I am telling you what to do too much. That takes the fun out of it doesn’t it? Sorry, sweetie. I won’t do that anymore. Let’s make another batch. This time, , I’ll flour the rolling pin, and you can roll it out and cut it any way you like.”
Why did it take me so long to get the message? Each time, she sent signals that i was going overboard. Yet, if I really learned, why did I make the same mistakes over and over? And over?
Lessons learned (or so I hope)
As a forgiving person, I forgive myself. I’m human, and I got carried away. But now that I know that, I want to make changes, so I can be more attuned to how I come across. I need to keep in mind what the whole purpose of my interactions are with my daughter. And I think those changes will improve me as a person in all my interactions, not just with my daughter.
As someone famous said, “We must never forget. Because if we do, we may repeat our mistakes.” Or something like that. Maybe it was “Those who do not remember history are doomed to repeat it.” The problem is, even though I DO remember, apparently that doesn’t prevent me from repeating history. So here are my reminders to myself, points to note for myself.
1. Know your audience. My girl is three years old. She is remarkably aware and communicative, but she has limits. Limits on attention span, limits on being told what to do and what not to do.
2. Be sensitive to the feedback I receive. If she needs to take a break, get some water, get a snack, it may be time to back off. There is a reason she wants or needs to get away from the situation. If it seems she doesn’t make sense, consider that as a signal that something is amiss.
3. Don’t get so caught up in the activity to the detriment of the person. Sure, I was putting together the train set for my little girl, or making cookies with her. But what is most important is her. And what she takes from the interactions. The train layout is not important. Making the best use of the dough is not important. Heck, making any cookies is not important. SHE is important. If she feels pressured, criticized, insecure, or scared by how intense Daddy becomes, none of it is worth it.
4. Little girls don’t HAVE to make sense. Yes, she wanted the violin, or the trains, or to make cookies. But holding her to it when she has lost interest (or worse, when I have become too intense) is counterproductive. She is three years old. She doesn’t have to make sense. Being logical doesn’t help a crying child. I am the adult, so I have to have more sense. I have to have enough sense for both of us. And that means stepping away from the task that has consumed me, and having the wisdom and compassion to realize that my girl, her well being, and her development, including development of healthy responses to situations, is more important than anything I am doing or we could be doing together. If I make good cookies, or put together a nice train set, but my little girl gets scared or feels bad, then I haven’t really achieved anything.
I do hope I remember next time a similar situation comes up. I know the first step to making any kind of change is to be aware. I am now much more attuned than before. All I can do is to stay aware, catch myself when i can, and stay attuned to signals. I hope this will make me a better father.
Everyday is a surprise 