When I Fail…
“You used your big voice,” she says crying, and she’s right, and it hurt her feelings, and it hurt mine, and I failed, again. My daughter was telling her mother something, and daddy had to just jump in there; I got involved in the conversation knowing only part of the whole story, another failing on my part. Why was I involved? I was trying to defend our younger son, but he didn’t need defending because he was in the wrong in this situation just as much as I, but nope, I couldn’t let it go, and my behavior only made my wife more frustrated, which she had every right to be, and further inflamed the hurt and anger of my daughter in the moment. All of that was directed at me, of course, after all, I had jumped in, and in essence, asked for it. It only then served to trigger me, and thus the big voice, not a giant teacher kind of voice, but a I’m the parent voice I had put away awhile ago, stormed out ready to make its point, and it only caused damage; damage I did not intentionally mean, but I was too stupid and full of myself in the moment to put it down and breathe and listen and just be present in her truth, or better yet, to take a big step back and stay out of it since it did not involve me…and I can’t really remember the last time it came out, but I do remember, vividly, how it made my daughter feel—my fault, my failing. Sometimes we are just wrong, sometimes we just fail, and it is not about anyone but ourselves. For me, I lean in hard on myself about it. I apologized, called a family meeting after talking with my four year old about his behavior, and his unkind choices that kickstarted the whole emotional trainwreck, and then I talked and listened with him, “Even daddy can make choices that are wrong and hurt people’s feelings. Daddy’s can be wrong and I was, and I need to make it right and apologize for my choice and ask how can I make it better. Daddy needs to do better” He got it, he saw me model it, and he offered his apology as well. We will have other opportunities to apologize I know, he’s four and she’s ten and they love and they battle, but I made sure he saw my failing, my failure in that time as a parent, and saw how I needed to work on it. That’s work we put in as parents to build them up, but right next door her bedroom was tears and hiding under the blankets because of my dropping an emotional piano through her fragile ceiling; I had broken her down. I had caused one of my greatest loves damage. I worked my way through the wreckage I caused and gently asked some questions as we all sat there, I explained a few things, and then I broke down the choices I made and why each one was wrong. I listened to her talk, I listened to her mom, who was also working hard to protect her and help screw my head back on properly. I then asked for some time just for us, and I asked to sit on the bed next to her. She granted me that beginning. I asked if it was alright to look at her, and she gave me that, but at first I was not given her eyes on me, and I accepted that, because whether she is 10 or 20 she didn’t deserve my behavior, and I did not deserve her eyes yet on me. It took some time, and it had to be gentle and patient as she cried and then found ground again with me, and we walked that gentle space, and we found one another’s hands again. I spent time with my daughter, slowly and gently speaking with her, spending time to listen to her, time taking in her pain and frustration and just let it be, just let it be hers without my interference, without my pride or trauma or any excuse or blame getting in its perfect way. I listened, and ultimately we hugged, we laughed, I cried some, we talked more, we moved though it separately and then together, and in my deepest place of sadness and regret over my choices I was able to acknowledge failing during that time as a father, as a parent, as a husband, existing as a failure of that moment, failing to listen, to hear, to really give the right kind of love and compassion, to do any of the right things I write about, teach about, and patiently give to so many others who are not my child. Why couldn’t I give that, in those eight minutes of garbage, to one of the single most important human beings in my entire life, one of the people I love more than anything on this entire planet? Why? The single word ripped me through me, it’s still cutting its way through to get to some deeper sense of truth about all of this. I’m working on being a better failure, or a less big idiot, or something in between being human and superhuman. Maybe one day she’ll read this and know, for all of my failing and imperfection, that loving her and giving my life to help build hers are two of the most perfect things I have ever been a part of. I hope she knows that I’ll never stop working to be better for her, for our family, for her mother, and that I know what failing as a father, as a husband feels like and I am doing all I can to fail a little less with the opportunity, with the gift, of each new day.