Welcome to feis dad

Hello, my name is Matt. I have a daughter ... no, make that two daughters ... who LOVE Irish Dance.

There. I admitted it. I’ve come clean.

It's the first step in recognizing I have a problem.

Did I say problem? Well, maybe that’s not quite right.

It’s more like a crisis of epic proportions.

If you’ve got a daughter in novice, prizewinner or championship, you know what I mean. Don’t worry, if you’re just starting this ride, you’ll find out soon enough.

If you don't know what a feis is. you're on the wrong blog. If you do know what a feis is and like it, you're on the wrong blog. If the thought of going to a feis makes you feel queasy, you're in the right place.

So, you're supposed to be here, now what?

Take a look at my first post, titled: Feis Dad Syndrome.

See if you've developed this terrible condition.

If you've got it, don't despair. There is help. I may not offer any right now, but don't lose hope, I'll get to it eventually.

Above all, I am looking forward to your comments, funny stories and helpful suggestions.

Thanks for joining me.

-- feis dad

Blog Posts

The following are posts. Please read, laugh and comment.

-feis dad

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

'Twas the Night Before Oireachtas

'Twas the night before Oireachtas, and all through the room,
Not a dancer was stirring in the pre-party gloom;

The poodle socks were placed in the dance bags with care,
Right next to curly wigs made from 20 lbs of fake hair;

The ceili dancers were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of recalls danced in their heads;

And feis mom in her school polo, and I with my school cap,
Had just settled down for a much needed nap;

When out on the dance floor there arose such a clatter,
That I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter;

Away through the lobby I flew like a flash,
Stubbed my big toe which left a large gash;

The Oireachtas dance floor was cast in a glow,
Bright lights illuminating as t’were part of a show;

Then, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a man dressed in black, holding a pint of Guinness beer;

With feet of flames moving so fast-ly,
I knew in a moment it must be Michael Flatley;

In with our team of ceili dancers he came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

"Now, Tuleagh! Now, Jennifer! Now, Lexi! Now, Delaney and Kayley!
On, Natalia! on Lauren! on, Dani and Sydney!

To the stage! To the stage! To the podium, please stand!
Now first place! First place! I want you to land!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
The dancers went to work, their jumps meeting the sky;

Each dancer was so graceful and neat,
As they did cuts and kicked their seat;

And then, in a rush, I heard on the floor,
The banging and pounding of two shoes doing more;

As I drew in my breath, and was turning around,
Out on the floor St. Mick(ael) came with a bound;

He was dressed all in leather, from his head to his feet,
And his pants were so tight, my wife was in for a treat;

With a beautiful adult dancer held in each arm,
Who couldn’t resist his smooth Irish charm;

His eyes – how they sparkled – his ego so grand,
He believed himself the best dancer in the land!

His mouth was drawn up in such a wide grin,
That I knew in my heart our team would win;

He performed a solo from Lord of the Dance,
While feis moms from all over watched his pants;

His shirt split open revealing a large round belly,
That shook and rolled like a bowlful of jelly;

He was becoming chubby and plump, a right fat old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, ‘spite the weight I’d gained myself;

A wink of his eye and a nod of his head,
Told the team they had nothing to dread;

For their dancing and team spirit, he sure was proud,
And to make sure they listened for the cheers from the crowd;

During his finale, one last big jump,
He fell to the floor with a horrific thump;

Then he sprang to his feet and gave the team a wave,
For all the practice, hard work and energy they gave;

With a grand flourish he danced to the door,
Got stuck from all the pints he drank like a bore;

Then I heard him exclaim, ere he got unstuck,
"Happy Oireachtas to all, and to all good luck!"

A serious message from feis dad about being a feis dad

This blog is not to be taken seriously. It’s meant to take a good-natured poke at how Irish Dance affects fathers (something many wives and daughters may not think about).

The reality of the situation is that most dads just don’t get the Irish Dance thing. It’s like asking our wives and daughters why they don’t throw high fives every time our favorite player hits a three-pointer in the playoffs.

I love my daughters, but I just can’t sit through twelve hours of accordion music at feis’ once a month. It is beyond me. And I truly believe that forcing me to do so would make me begin to resent their activity, which none of us want.

BUT, that doesn’t mean I don’t support our daughters in my own way.

That’s exactly what this blog is about. For good or bad, THIS is part of my support for them.

Some may say I’m not a good father if I don’t go to each and every performance or feis. But I believe both my daughters know I think what they are doing is important and good for them even though it’s hard for me to spell feis or oreach … orack … that big national feis thing.

My point in all of this is that although there are some things we just won’t do, I believe real feis dads need to ensure they:

Support their daughter’s (or son’s) love of Irish Dance.

Take interest in how they are doing.

Are excited when they perform well and move up.

Comfort them when they don’t.

Support their activity as much as we can within realistic financial and family obligations

Although we may not understand the specifics (like the difference is between a slip jig and a reel) we take an interest in the general idea

We tell our children we are proud of them every chance we get

Although we make light of some of the aspects of Irish Dance, they are never mean spirited or hurtful

We ensure that our children know what they are doing is important to us

Do what dads do best: build things—practice dance floors, sound systems, etc.

Take them to practices and performances when possible (even if it means missing part of the game, but maybe not if it’s the playoffs).

Again, this blog is not meant to be taken seriously.

No one is perfect. Not even feis dads. If you can’t laugh about it (or about yourself) then you’re missing out.

--feis dad