My dad was 49 years old when I was born. Growing up, people often confused him for my grandpa. It never bothered me. You just get used to instances like that if you're a kid with an "old dad." If you've got one, you know what I mean.
Another thing you get accustomed to is knowing that you'll witness your dad age – in an uncomfortable way – while you're still young. I remember being nine years old, when my dad was 58, and accompanying him to visit his parents in their retirement home. Even without doing the math, I knew that when I was 58, I would not be taking my kids to visit their grandpa. Hang in there, this post becomes less morbid – I promise.
For a large part of my life, my dad lived away from home. His job took him to places like Washington, D.C., Boise, Idaho, and even abroad to countries such as China, Singapore, and Dubai. We maintained a healthy level of communication thanks to Skype, email, and birthday cards, and I spent many Christmases in countries that don't even celebrate the holiday. Furthermore, going to college in Los Angeles and then staying there for several years after graduation for my first career further limited our overlapping time together. This changed in 2017.
At the age of 77, my dad finally "retired" and moved back home to San Francisco for good. I was 28 at the time and had moved back into my childhood home in San Francisco. My return from Los Angeles happened out of necessity. I was managing the side effects of chronic low back and hip pain and needed support to cope and to find solutions.
After a lot of trial and error, I discovered Classical Pilates and finally broke free from chronic pain. Inspired by my own experiences, I went on to complete an intense Pilates teacher certification and left my career in finance. A year or so into teaching professionally full time, the pandemic hit.
In the midst of 2020, my dad found out he needed to have open-heart surgery – a triple bypass. He was 80, and I was 31. His surgery was a full-circle moment for me. I was witnessing my "old dad" age in a frightening way while I was still young. It was a scary time, and I cried a lot. I learned that being aware of a truth doesn't prepare you for its reality. Thankfully, my dad recovered, with instructions from his cardiologist to develop a regular exercise routine.
Being born in 1940 means my dad is of the "Silent Generation." Make of that label what you will; I believe it speaks volumes about my dad's temperament and personality. He's not big on small talk, so when he did talk, my brother and I listened. He shows love through acts of service. He can see an answer just by recognizing the the other options are incorrect. He can be shy. He is independent to a fault. He dislikes going to the gym the way some people loathe going to the dentist. Enter: my mom's brilliant idea for me to teach my dad Pilates.
Our first session was in 2021. We wore masks. I was nervous. It was awkward. Remember, I transitioned from interacting with my dad via a screen for most of my life to now having him one foot in front of me waiting for instruction – the father-daughter authority hierarchy turned upside down. But deep down, I knew that "later is better than never," and it is never too late to find a movement practice. I often describe the role of a Pilates teacher as "holding space" for others. Holding space for "later is better than never" for my dad felt like the responsibility of a lifetime; this helped me find my voice to start teaching him. That first session marked the beginning of my dad's Pilates practice and my journey of getting to know my dad more intimately than I could have ever imagined as a young girl.
Guiding him through a few basic shoulder joint movements, I discovered that he had limited access to shoulder abduction (joint movement away from the midline) and shoulder flexion (joint motion that decreases the angle between articulating bones). From my personal experiences and observations as a teacher, I instantly knew that there was no way my dad didn't live with chronic shoulder pain. He just never complained or talked about it. Remember: "Silent Generation."
What was also impactful was seeing a reflection of myself as a Pilates practitioner in my dad, something I was not expecting. Pilates emphasizes the mind-body connection, and sometimes when I'm "in it," it feels like what I imagine entering the Matrix is like (throwback to 1999, anyone?). The world around you slows, and your most intimate senses – think proprioception, interoception, kinesthesia – heighten. There is no other time when I feel so in control of my life than when I'm doing Pilates.
I can tell when my students are in the Pilates Matrix by the look on their faces, by the quality of their movement, and by the questions or feedback they share with me. It takes time, consistent practice, and focus to find this mind-body connection, and I wasn't sure if my dad could get there. Though my dad stays quiet during most of our sessions, the look on his face and the way he moves let me know that he's in it, that his mind and body connect with my cues. It may be a universe thing, but after seeing my dad make the mind-body connection, I understood that if he hadn't been my dad, I perhaps wouldn't be where I am with my Pilates practice.
My dad, going on 83 now, continues to attend Pilates sessions with me twice a week. Since 2021, new age-related health issues have intermittently arisen. These experiences have deepened my appreciation for the work. As Pilates instructors often say, "Pilates meets you where you're at," meaning that no matter if you're injured, young, traumatized, unwell, or healthy, there's always a pathway to movement. There are days when my dad arrives at the studio short of breath and low in energy. Other days, he comes in having already walked five or six miles across the city. I tailor our sessions to accommodate his current state and persistently create space for the concept that "later is better than never" for him.
By: Destinie Slavich
