My Dad FINALLY Paid Attention to Me

I Was Desperate to Make it Last

I was never daddy’s little girl

My father was too busy living vicariously through my brother. Who was pursuing their joint dream of becoming a musician.

Dad’s parents wouldn’t hear of it. Although they let him learn to play the violin, my grandparents made it clear it was only to be a hobby. No matter how passionate their son was. But they’d pay for his college education so he could get a “real job”.

It was soul-crushing for my father. So when my brother showed musical inclination, dad was all over him. Listening to my brother practice, talking about music, and attending concerts and competitions together.

All while pretty much ignoring me.

So when my parents attended my ballet studio’s open house, I couldn’t wait for my father’s undivided attention. I desperately wanted to look over and see him beam proudly at me. Instead, my father was looking down at the floor, tapping his foot rhythmically to the piano accompaniment. The music lured him away yet again.

That’s why I was completely taken aback, when I was about eleven years old and dad suddenly took an interest in ME. “ I have a present for you, Shirley,” he announced. I couldn’t believe it!!! It wasn’t even my birthday.

He gave me the most odd shaped box I’d ever seen. What was it?

“Aren’t you going to open it?” dad smiled. I was so stunned I just stood there staring at the unexpected gift.

I carefully untied the ribbon, rustled through the tissue paper, and pulled out a very strange looking hat. Dad noticed my confusion and bellowed with pride, “It’s a horseback riding helmet!”

I didn’t get it. But I didn’t want to disappoint dad, so I smiled and thanked him. He continued, “You love animals, so I got you riding lessons! Try on your helmet!”

I was so over the moon that he was showering me with all this love and attention.

I struggled to put the helmet on. It was too small and hurt my head. But when he asked, “Do you like it?” I quickly nodded yes and threw my arms around him to show my appreciation. Then he informed me my first lesson started on Saturday. Bright and early.

Dad was a morning person. I was NOT. But HE was taking ME to my first horseback riding lesson, so I eagerly got up when it was still dark out on Saturday. We were going to bond, and I was going to make him proud.

On the way there he turned on his favorite music, focusing on that and his driving. Never mind. I’ll win him over, I assured myself. I just have to earn his respect.

When we got to the stables, I donned my too tight helmet. Parents weren’t allowed in, so I was sad to learn dad couldn’t proudly watch me make my horse jump fences, or whatever I’d do on the first lesson.

When the class mounted our horses, it was terrifying because I felt like I was way too high. I was scared I’d fall off. But I didn’t want to let dad down, so I told myself to be brave.

I sat there frozen at the command to give our horses a little kick to get them moving. I had literally been groomed to be a pleaser, trying to be as nice as I possibly could, to prove I was worthy of love. ‘Kicking’ wasn’t in my DNA and just seemed WRONG.

All the other students’ horses started trotting about. The instructor screamed from afar that I should give my horse a kick. But I couldn’t. He asked me what I was doing. “I don’t want to hurt the poor horse.” I blurted out, holding back tears. “You’re not hurting him!” he yelled.

I hated this experience! Yes, I loved animals, including horses, but not in this way. I struggled to give that first kick, and it never did feel right to me.

On the way home dad asked how it went. I wanted so badly to tell him that I was a superstar, like my brother. But I’m too honest. When I explained my hesitancy about kicking, he looked so disappointed in me. “You need to listen to your instructor,” he urged, “these lessons are expensive!”

Looking back now, I realize my dad was subjected to this same guilt trip his parents gave him about their “generosity” to pay for the college courses THEY insisted upon. While ignoring his real calling.

But at the time, all I felt was shame for letting dad down. I promised him I’d do better. But it just wasn’t my thing and I kept screwing up.

At my fourth and final lesson, my dad came looking for me when I didn’t come out to the car. I stood in the stables paralyzed, because I had forgotten the name of the horse I rode that day. I didn’t know what stall to take her to. My dad was about to go ask someone when suddenly, my horse abruptly turned into a stall. We were confused. One of the instructors headed our way and asked if everything was okay.

“I forgot my horse’s name.” I admitted, turning beet red and feeling so ashamed. “No worries,” the staff member assured me, “this IS her stall.”

“You mean she actually knows where her stall is?” I exclaimed. “Yes,” replied the employee, “horses are very intelligent.” I could have sworn my dad shot me a look as if to say, if only YOU were that bright. How could I forget my horse’s name? I felt so foolish.

I dwelled on it all the way home. It wasn’t just that car ride that felt awkward. None of them were what I’d hoped for. Not only was my father too engrossed in the music he listened to on the radio, I also wasn’t able to show off about how great I was. Because I wasn’t. I’d never win him over this way.

Since I was grateful for his efforts and always eager to please, I kept telling my father how thankful I was. So I didn’t know how to respond when he asked me if I wanted to take more lessons. I just quickly nodded, “Sure — thanks!” I convinced myself that if I just did better, he’d finally validate my existence.

Luckily, the next day when my father dropped me off at my ballet lesson, he showed off to the teacher that I was now taking horseback riding lessons too. “That’s the worst thing for a dancer!” My teacher scolded. “The leg motions needed to ride a horse are the polar opposite of how they work in ballet!”

I was secretly so relieved. I didn’t have to quit. My teacher quit for me. My dad didn’t sign me up for more riding lessons. Phew!

I never showed an interest in horseback riding, so I don’t know what prompted my father to surprise me with lessons. But even if I was actually good at it, riding wasn’t HIS thing. Nothing could ever compete with dad’s love of music.

He chased after his passion and lost dreams of becoming a professional musician by chasing after my brother. I chased after my father’s attention and the approval that would earn me his love. But despite my envy, I eventually learned the adoration bestowed upon my brother was solely dependent on his musical abilities and their common interest.

It took me a couple decades and a lot of therapy to figure it out. You don’t need to do anything special to be worthy of a parent’s unconditional love!

Although I wasn’t able to become a mother myself, I try my best to apply this philosophy by appreciating people for who they are, and what they’re passionate about, not their achievements.

I’ve also worked very hard to finally give myself the love I deserve. And if I need a reminder, I make a point of reassuring myself by reciting the late, great, Maya Angelou’s loving and empowering mantra:

“You alone are enough!”

Thank you for reading my story.

Thank you to Sally Prag at the Memoirist link

I’d like to extend my gratitude to Cindy Heath for spelling out the “secret sauce” to turning memories into memoirs:

Please also see this loving and supportive piece by Jenny Lane:

And Kyle Wells thoughtfully talks about self-talk:

For more please see my book: http://amzn.to/3s01fDv