We all harbor our little secrets and confessions, don’t we? Let me share one of mine. Every Sunday morning, my partner and I take our twin toddlers to a music class. We’ve been doing this for a year, yet I vividly recall my initial hesitation during that first session. The class emphasizes parental engagement and encourages us to “show, not tell” our children how to experience music—through singing, dancing, instrument playing, and even pretending to be animals with instruments in tow. In short, embracing our inner goofiness is a must.
Now, I’m not exactly a natural when it comes to being silly, especially outside the comfort of our home. However, my desire to fit in pushed me to dive right in. My partner, on the other hand, has a knack for silliness and joined in without a second thought.
A few months later, a new family joined our class for a trial visit. By that time, I had mastered the art of hopping around like a rabbit with imaginary wings. The father of this family, understandably, wasn’t quite as comfortable. While his wife and kids eagerly participated, he remained outside the circle, watching intently but never joining in, even during the “free dance” segment where anything goes.
As we left, I expressed relief to my partner that he wasn’t like that visiting father. I appreciated his willingness to unleash his playful side, not just in class but in any situation where it felt appropriate. I couldn’t help but wonder if that father ever had fun with his children. (Ah, yes—definitely why this is in my vault!)
Later that day, I revisited the topic with my partner, admitting my judgmental thoughts about the reserved dad. I felt the need to apologize in spirit, even if I couldn’t speak to him directly. Who was I to cast judgment on a father who might have been navigating a new environment that demanded much from him while surrounded by strangers? Perhaps he was shy, reserved, or simply not expressive. Maybe he was even recovering from a cold and didn’t want to risk spreading it.
What struck me most was the simple fact that he was there. He didn’t stay home or wait in the car; he participated to the extent that he felt comfortable. For all I know, he could have been the one leading the sing-along in the car after class. And if he wasn’t, so what? What does one class reveal about his character as a husband, parent, or individual? Why did I think I had the right to judge?
I’m grateful that I caught myself and re-evaluated my judgment. It was alarmingly easy to slip into a hypercritical mindset—almost automatic. A few months later, I experienced my own dose of judgment from another parent in the class, which left me feeling indignant and upset. I confided in friends with older kids about my experience, and most of them chuckled lovingly, warning me that things only get tougher when my boys start school.
While I know they’re right, can’t we strive for better? I’ll certainly do my best.
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In summary, it’s crucial to remember that every parent navigates their own journey, often in ways we may not understand. Let’s endeavor to support one another instead of casting judgment.
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