But things didn’t go as smoothly as I’d hoped. Whitney told me that it just wasn’t easy for a girl to talk with her dad. I knew she was right, but it didn’t lessen the blow. I left the conversation saying, “Well, we need to find a way.”

Fortunately, Whitney decided that it was worth talking with me, even if she had to coach me through the process. And coach me she did. None of it came naturally to my male way of thinking. But I decided it was worth removing the pants in the family in order to open the door to my daughter’s life.

Here’s what she said.

‘Just Listen’

Counselors call it active listening — being certain you really hear what the other person is saying before you respond. God had given Whitney the intuition she needed. But how could a person like me, who always has a response at hand, learn to listen?

In a tongue-in-cheek story, Dr. Henry Cloud tells how people seek those who will listen and understand. As a teen, Cloud found a way to become that good listener. He started repeating the last three words of whatever the other person had said:

Friend: “I was so angry they ignored me.”

Cloud: “So they ignored you?”

Friend: “Yeah. And it made me angry.”

Cloud: “So you were angry.”

Friend: “Yes, exactly. You are sooo sensitive. You seem to know just what to say.”

Cloud’s technique was right on. Active listening would allow Whitney to know I could hear her without intruding into the conversation. Simple nods and verbal affirmations would do the job. Okay. I could do that.

Then she gave me the second word of advice.

‘Don’t Try to Solve My Problems’

What is this? All this life experience stored up for such occasions, and now I’m told it’s not needed? I’m built to solve problems and dispense sage advice. It’s how I’m wired. It’s part of the pants thing. What purpose do I serve if I’m not solving problems? Still, I understood what she meant. Whitney knew she could solve her own problems by talking them through.
Far too often I’m like wisdom’s PEZ dispenser. At the slightest provocation, my head flops back and out comes advice. Counsel has its place, but I have two ears and one mouth. I should use them proportionately.

Nonetheless, my maleness compelled me to lodge a formal protest. “But Whitney …”

“Dad!”

“Okay. What else?”

‘Don’t Push’

This one proves quality time a myth. You don’t get quality time without investing quantity time. Quality time presupposes that the world waits on our schedules.

Our golden retriever wriggles with delight at any attention thrown his way. But the theory of quality time doesn’t work with kids. Whitney’s reminder punctuated my need to carve out large blocks of time — quantity time — for the children when they were with me. The quality time myth draws fathers into an entertainment mind-set in an effort to demonstrate their love. Quantity time speaks more to our presence than to our ability to amuse.

With these three simple points, my daughter closed my short course in relationships and ended our conversation.

Pop Quiz

The test came three weeks later.

Dinner had been uneventful, with the regular recitation of routine school events. Aside from Keaton’s misdemeanors at school, everything seemed normal.

Keaton finished his meal first and asked to be excused. Still normal. But then it happened. Whitney pushed her dishes aside and climbed up on the table to sit cross-legged. She couldn’t have been more than two feet from my face as she leaned her chin into her hands and began to talk. Any other day, sitting on the table would be forbidden, but she sat there without rebuke.

“Dad.” This was the moment. I said to myself, Be quiet.

“Listen. Don’t give advice. No questions.”

As I remember the event, tears still come to my eyes. My daughter started to talk — I mean, really talk to me. She opened up her feelings. And I listened so well.

Before long, tears rolled down her cheeks. I wanted to solve her problem. I knew I could. But I didn’t. I listened.

The conversation lasted for 20 minutes — 20 glorious minutes. Then, I blew it. I asked a question. I saw it first in her jaw. A muscle twitched and her teeth clenched. She said, “That’s all I have to say.”

End of conversation. End of quiz.

I hope these pop quizzes aren’t pass/fail. I want to be graded on a curve. I’m better than I was but not as good as I hope to be.

At bedtime that night, she held tightly to my neck. I think I got a C+. That’s okay. I can pull it up. I have at least another five years to master this course.

Oh, about my wardrobe. The pants have never felt the same. They don’t fit as before. I’m still uncomfortable in a kilt. But that’s a good thing. Whitney will need a dad in pants to walk her down the aisle someday.