You can take the feis dad out of Irish dance, but you can’t take the cluelessness out of feis dad. Truer words have never been written, particularly considering what happened yesterday.
Here’s a true story. My wife and dancing daughters went to see a movie and do some shoe shopping for Mother’s Day, giving me the afternoon off at home. After the movie, they called and asked me to call the Olive Garden restaurant for call-ahead reservations at 5:00 pm. Being the efficient father and husband I am, I did just that.
At precisely 4:45, I left home and drove toward my place in history as a true bonehead. Ten minutes later, I turned into the large shopping center containing Wal-mart, DSW, Best Buy, a movie theater, Olive Garden and Red Lobster.
At this point, my daughter called me and asked where I was. I told her I was just coming up on Olive Garden and would be there in less than a minute. She told me they were just leaving DSW and would be there shortly after me.
Not concentrating on where I was going, I pulled into the first restaurant looking building. I parked, strode confidently into the building and announced my name to the hostess and told her that I had called ahead for a table for four. She gave me a strange look and told me that had a bunch of tables open.
I told her I would wait for the rest of my party in the waiting area instead of going to the table (which happened to be the only smart thing I did the entire afternoon). As I waited in near the hostess table, I walked over to the lobster tank and looked at the poor lobsters.
Hmmm, I thought, when did Olive Garden get a lobster tank? I wondered if they were having a lobster special. Seemed like a strange thing for Olive Garden to do, but what do I know about the restaurant business?
After a few minutes of waiting and watching the lobster, an older couple left the restaurant and I heard (or thought I heard) the hostess say, “Thank you for coming to Red Lobster.”
At this point (actually WAY before this point) something should have clicked in my brain, but nothing did. I just though I’d misheard her.
I went back to watching the lobster. Poor things. I was glad I didn’t like lobster. I didn’t want to think about me sending them to a pot of boiling water. I looked at my watch. 5:05. Where was my family? It shouldn’t have taken them this long to come over from DSW. Had they gone back inside to do some more shoe shopping? I was going to have to give them a hard time about being late.
Then a family walked by me on their way out the door.
“Thank you for coming to Red Lobster,” the hostess said again. This time I was SURE that’s what she’d said. What in the heck was going on? Did she forget that she was in Olive Garden? Did she have two jobs? One at Red Lobster, the other at Olive Garden. Or maybe she was just playing a joke on these poor people leaving Olive Garden.
I shook my head. Boy, people can be REALLY stupid sometimes.
The hostess walked by me. She didn’t look all that stupid. Why would she be saying, “Thank you for coming to Red Lobster.”
Then it all hit me. The lobster tank. The maritime pictures. The fried fish smell. The Red Lobster name tags.
Yep, sometimes people can be REALLY stupid. And it just so happens that this was MY time! I thought that at this point Bill Engvall would come up to me and hand me MY sign.
As red-faced as the lobster in the tank, I made a quick exit, looked up at the sign over the door, just for confirmation. Yep, Red Lobster.
I had been in there for almost 15 minutes! I got on my cell phone. My family was sitting in Olive Garden, wondering where I was. Wow. I know where I was physically, but mentally, I’m not so sure.
I can’t even blame this one on Irish dance. This one was all me.
Feis dad
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
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
-feis dad
Monday, May 10, 2010
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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
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
