Teacher! Please praise me more!

I don't want to do dance anymore!

My daughter started a
hip-hop dance class a little while ago.

The teacher is incredibly strict.

Well, it's not that she's scary.

It's just that what she demands is professional-level.

No matter how good a child is,
they are never praised without reservation.

Sometimes, they are made to dance
alone.

At least,
she does let them know,
"We'll have a test next week."

The day of the first test.

My daughter didn't practice much,
thinking, "Well, it'll be fine, right?!"

As expected,
she forgot the choreography halfway through.

After the test ended, there was a few seconds of silence.
"Did you practice properly? How much a day?"

As I thought, she was asked.

Daughter: "I practiced for about 30 minutes a day!!"

Yeah, right! 🤣🤣🤣

A professional would see right through such a transparent lie.

"That's strange. Well, maybe your practice method is the problem."

The teacher didn't try to correct my daughter's lie, but instead taught her where she should focus her practice.

...If I don't practice seriously every day, I don't know what I'll be told next.

From that day on, my daughter and I began our special hip-hop dance training.

I should mention, I have no dance experience.

When I was in elementary school, I volunteered to be a dancer in a parade with my friends, but I had a really hard time because I couldn't remember the choreography.

However, my special talent is covering for my lack of natural ability with hard work.

For that parade, I worked much, much harder than the other kids, and I'm confident that I danced better than anyone else when the day came.

In contrast, I feel like my daughter is a bit bad at working steadily.

Now, how can I get this child to practice every day?

Well, even though I'm clumsy,
I have no choice but to learn the choreography and do it together.

I stare at the teacher's dance demonstration on my smartphone
every single day,
and in between work,
I sneak into an empty room
and quietly practice the steps.

Thinking that if someone saw me doing this,
I might become the talk of the town as a weirdo,
I still did my best to learn it for my daughter's sake.

And when I get home,
I practice with my daughter.

At first, my daughter didn't want to do it,
but as she started to learn the moves little by little,
it seems she started to enjoy it after all.

After a while,
she started practicing on her own.

The next test.

This time, I didn't forget the choreography.

“...You remembered the choreography well. But you aren't shifting your weight correctly. If you can learn to shift your weight, you'll get much, much better.”

Teacher! Please praise me more! 😭😭😭

It was really hard to learn, you know!
I worked really hard too!

Thinking my daughter must be feeling quite down,
I spoke to her after the lesson.

“If I can learn how to shift my weight,
I’ll get even better!”

So positive!!!

…That’s right.
This child’s special talent
is being positive.

Once again, it was a new song,
and new choreography began.

Just like last time,
I learned the choreography too,
and practiced every day with my daughter.

And then, the test.

She had memorized the choreography perfectly.
As for the weight shifting… well, I couldn’t
really say she had mastered it.

The teacher said this:

“Well… for you, I think it would be fine
if you just danced with more energy!”

The teacher’s advice sounded like they had given up.

If it were me, I would be completely heartbroken…

You don't have to say it in such a dismissive way.
You really don't.

"Hey, you think so too, right?"

I thought that as I looked at my daughter.

"Since you didn't say anything about my weight shift, that means I'm doing it right! I'll do my best next time too!"
She replied with a beaming smile.

So positive!!!

...I see.

My daughter hadn't just improved at dancing.

Instead of taking the corrections as "I failed,"
she had learned to take them as
"I just need to work on this next time."

I have been a perfectionist since I was young.

If a teacher corrected me, I would get depressed, thinking "I wasn't good enough,"
and I would only focus on the things I couldn't do.

That's why I thought my daughter was feeling hurt in the same way.

But I was wrong.

My daughter was properly finding the things she could do,
rather than focusing on what she couldn't.

Come to think of it, my daughter had been like that since she was little.



She would cry when she didn't want to do something, but in the end, she would finish it properly and act as if nothing had happened.
I had always tried to teach her "how to make an effort."
But there were things I was taught by my daughter as well.




Even if the results don't turn out as expected after putting in the effort, you must keep looking forward.
That might be a strength I never had.



The thing that grew the most in dance wasn't my daughter's weight shift, but her heart.

And, just a little bit, my heart too.