When Spinning in the Aisle Means Everything Is Right

The other day, I was at the grocery store with my daughter when she suddenly broke into a full-blown dance routine in the middle of the ice cream section, arms out, giggling, completely unaware of the glances around her. My first instinct was to hush her, to make her “behave,” to blend in like all the other quiet shoppers. But then I realized something at that moment: she wasn’t being “bad.” She was being free. Her body was saying, “I feel good, I feel loved, and I’m not worried what anyone thinks.” It hit me, kids don’t twirl like that when they’re afraid. They spin and dance when they feel safe.

Children aren’t silly, loud, or wiggly just for the sake of chaos. Usually. They’re like that because they trust that they won’t be punished for showing joy. Safe kids are loud kids. Safe kids ask random questions and sing off-key. Because it means our presence gives them room to be themselves.

That spin in the aisle? That was trust. That was my daughter saying, “I know I’m loved even when I’m being different.” And isn’t that what we all want, to move through the world knowing we can be real and still be accepted? Her silliness wasn’t a cry for attention, it was a quiet celebration of emotional security. She wasn’t performing, she was being. 

The Loudest Kids Are Often the Most Secure

We spend a lot of time as adults trying to manage our kids' behavior in public, keeping them quiet in restaurants, telling them to stop bouncing in line, asking them to “use their inside voices.” And yes, there’s a time and place for teaching respect and boundaries. But when we constantly correct their silliness or noise just to make them more tolerable to strangers, we risk dimming their light. We may be teaching them that conformity matters more than connection. That being accepted is better than being real.

Of course, we want to raise kind, respectful humans who understand context. But we don’t have to raise silent, obedient ones in the process. If we’re always muting them out of our own discomfort or fear of judgment, what are we really modeling? That other people’s opinions matter more than our child's joy?

We can't let our adult insecurities stop their playfulness. Because if we do, they’ll start to believe that their natural self is “too much.” And one day, they’ll stop spinning, singing, and shouting your name with excitement, not because they grew up, but because they shrank down. That’s not growth. That’s fear.

Silliness Is Emotional Safety in Action

Being silly means a child isn’t bracing for emotional harm. It means they’re not walking on eggshells or scared to mess up. It’s their version of saying, “I feel okay in my skin right now.” That’s no small thing.

If a child can laugh freely and play without self-consciousness, they’re showing you that their internal world feels stable. Kids who feel unsafe are often quiet, careful, or people pleasing. Not because they’re naturally serious, but because they’re learning to survive emotionally. So when a kid is acting wild and joyful? Celebrate it. That’s a win for them and you.

Our job isn’t to crush the chaos, it’s to hold space for it. It's hard I know. We can teach them the “when” and “where” of behavior without making them feel ashamed of the “who.” 

Our Reactions Shape Their Voice

Our reactions to these moments are teaching moments, for us. When we respond to our child’s joy with embarrassment or harshness, we’re telling them that their joy is too much. That their personality needs to be brought down. Over time, they learn to shrink themselves to make others more comfortable.

But when we respond with patience, with curiosity, or even with laughter, we teach them that their voice matters. That joy belongs. That they don’t need to apologize for simply being excited to exist.

We’re not just raising kids. We’re building future adults. Adults who will either know how to speak up and show up, or who will constantly check themselves to make sure they’re not being “too loud.” I don’t want my daughter to spend her life whispering.

This Won’t Last Forever. Let It Happen Now

There will come a day when our kids won’t want to spin in public anymore. When they’ll be more concerned about how they look, how they sound, and how others perceive them. That innocence, that raw joy, has an expiration date, and we don’t get to know when it is. So let them be little. Let them be loud. Let them be silly.

The world is going to try to tame them soon enough. They’ll hear “be quiet,” “grow up,” “don’t be weird” from plenty of places. We don’t need to be one of them. Our homes and our arms should be where they get to exhale.

And when they look back on their childhood, I want them to remember that mom and dad didn’t flinch when they were loud. That we didn’t shush their joy just because a stranger gave us side eye. I want them to know we saw them and we celebrated it.

Celebrate the Safe Spaces We Create

They won’t just remember that we gave them snacks and drove them to school. They’ll remember that we laughed when they danced like weirdos. That we joined them. That we didn’t make them feel like a burden for being kids.

So yes, let your kid spin. Let them make up words, tell nonsense stories, and sing out loud. Let them feel, truly feel, that who they are is never too much.

Dad Mode: Learning to Embrace the Messy Magic

As a dad, I’ve had to unlearn some of the lessons I learned growing up like the idea that "good" parenting means control and order. But real connection doesn’t grow out of control; it grows out of presence. It grows when we pause to actually see our kids in their full, silly, chaotic glory. And that’s hard sometimes, I would even say impossible at times. Especially when we’re tired or feeling judged by the outside world.

But I don’t want to be the dad who teaches my kid how to stay quiet just to survive. I want to be the dad who teaches her how to be bold and kind, loud and loving, silly and safe, all at the same time. That means I have to get comfortable with a little chaos. With letting go of how it looks, and focusing on how it feels, for her and for me. That’s the real game I’m trying to level up in.

The Real Save Point

In video games, a save point is where you rest, recharge, and return to when things get tough. That’s what I want to be for my daughter. I want her to know that no matter what level she’s on, no matter how weird or wild she gets, she can always come back to me and feel safe. Not just when she’s calm or well-behaved, but especially when she’s spinning in every sense of the word.

-SavePointDad