The moment I almost protected my daughter from a great life lesson
(Photo: My daughter on our annual pilgrimage to Lake Tahoe)
She was only eight years old.
The taekwondo studio in Paso Robles smelled like sweat and dirty socks.
Black mats on the floor, an American flag on the wall, a room full of parents sitting in the back watching their kids get evaluated one by one for the next belt level.
Her older brother Jackson had gone first. He ended up getting his purple belt, walked back to his spot on the mat to sit down, composed and proud.
Then it was Madison’s turn.
The instructor explained what she had done well. Then he explained what she had missed. And then he told her, in front of the entire class, that she would not be receiving her purple belt that day. She could re-test in a few weeks.
She was 8. She nodded. Sat back down. Kept her composure in a way that honestly impressed me more than the kids who got their belts.
I was standing in the back, watching this unfold and my first instinct, the raw parental one, was pure protective fury.
How could they embarrass my little girl in front of EVERYONE?
She worked so hard. She deserved it. This was wrong.
Then I caught myself.
This was not an injustice.
It was a gift.
A real one, delivered without softening, in front of witnesses, at 8 years old.
The world had just told my daughter that effort does not always equal outcome, that sometimes you fall short in public, and that you do not get to fall apart about it.
Not here. Not now. Not in front of everyone watching to see what you are made of.
Parents should be thoughtful before they risk overadvocating for their kids in these situations.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen overprotective parents yelling at coaches for some injustice delivered upon their kid. In most cases, their kids are embarrassed because they know better.
I’m not saying you can’t stand up for your kids; I did this plenty of times, but you have to be thoughtful about it because, in some cases, it can cause harm.
Damage to the process of preparing them for how life really works once they are out of your sight line.
(Photo: The Webb kids. In middle school, their mom and I started all of them in jiu-jitsu. This helped my oldest with his fear of getting bullied in high school.)
My daughter held it together until we were seated in my truck in the parking lot, then the emotions came on like a Texas thunderstorm.
“But my brother got his purple belt and I didn’t get mine, Dad.”
I was so proud of her for holding it together as long as she did.
Then I said something along the lines of, “Not everyone wins the first time. Sometimes we fail. And how we handle that failure is what defines everything that comes after it. Work hard, come back, earn it and I you will know what it’s like to earn something.
She did.
She earned her purple belt a few weeks later and I still remember the text message her mom sent me with Madison’s big smile.
And the lesson she took from that experience was not about any belt. It was about what she was capable of when things did not go her way.
For her high school graduation, I gave her a watch and had “She thought she could, and she did” on the back case.
When Madison was twenty, finishing her design degree at Goldsmiths in London, I asked her what she wished I had done differently as her father.
She said she wished she had heard more about the times I had failed.
The real stuff. The screwups and the setbacks and the moments I doubted myself. Not the medals. The bruises.
Her answer hit hard. I’d done a lot of good things as a father, but I wished I’d shared more of my own failures with my kids. I realized they were measuring themselves against the false pretense that I was perfect and always succeeded.
A few months later, she came to visit me in Lisbon. Over dinner, on a small patio overlooking the cobblestone streets, he looked across the table and said, “Dad, I just want you to know I am exactly where I want to be in my life, and I appreciate you allowing me to be myself.”
That is twenty years of showing up. Not a perfect record. An honest one.
I put all of it in Puddle Jumpers, the framework and the failures, and what actually worked.
Link below if you want the whole picture.
