The last time I made a cake from a box, my kids learned three new swear words. They also learned how to kindly say, “Dad... your cake sucks.” This isn’t an isolated thing. Frankly, I’m a terrible cook, and, therefore, I’m not all that into cooking shows. So when Is It Cake? started burning up the top 10 on Netflix, and became a huge topic of discussion on my social media, I felt it was just another cooking show that I’d never watch. I thought it would make me feel like an even worse cook than I already was. But then my 12-year-old daughter insisted that I watch it with her.

To say Norah got into this show is an understatement. Each time a cake was revealed and the judges were called in, she’d slide the coffee table next to the TV and cram her little face inches from the screen, eyes narrowed, palms flat on the table. She’d examine the bowling ball or chess set or handbag or whatever random object it was and try to figure out which one was really cake, acting like she was the one with $5,000 on the line. Once the real cake was revealed and she was wrong (which she almost always was), Norah clutched the collar of her white llama print T-shirt in absolute shock, like an elderly woman clutching her pearls. 

I must admit, just watching her had me laughing, and during the first couple episodes, I held to my assumption that this was just a random cooking show cleverly playing off an internet trend — nothing more. Around Episode 2, Norah said with total sincerity, “Dad... I wish you could trick people with cakes.” She didn’t say it jokingly. She said it with this dog-eyed sadness, like it had always been her dream for me to make a cake that looked like a toy elephant or a suitcase or whatever — almost like I was failing her as a father because my hands had never manipulated fondant (a substance neither of us knew the name for until we watched Is It Cake?). 

I realized that my daughter is only 12 and caught up in a viral cooking show. But I also realized, without a shadow of a doubt, that I could never grant her wish. And it was then that I fully started to admire the unique cake-making talent on the screen. 

This realization took on a deeper meaning near the end of Episode 5, when [spoiler] Andrew, the charming green-haired cake maker, begins to cry when he qualifies for the final. When asked why he’s so emotional, he says, “I’m always been the weirdo… and I’m just not used to being the one that people consider the best.” This was the moment when Is It Cake? became much more than a cooking show — not only for Andrew but also for me and Norah.

Shortly after that scene, I said, “The cool thing about this show is that it demonstrates how everyone has a talent, and everyone deserves admiration for those talents.” I don’t know if I said it quite that eloquently, but what I will say is that Norah got quiet. It seemed clear that she was beginning to understand that everyone brings something special to the table, and those varying abilities are something to be admired. 

Or at least, that’s what I hope she got out of it. With kids, you never really know.

It was quiet for a while. Then Norah said, “But what if you aren’t good at anything?” This was a common refrain for her and her 15-year-old brother. Come to think of it, I had the same apprehensions when I was a teenager. And now, as an adult, I kinda, sorta still think that way sometimes. I’m pretty sure everyone has these moments when they question whether they’re really good at anything. and I’ll bet before Andrew qualified for the final, he felt similarly, despite the fact that he is obviously very talented.

As Norah’s father, I see it as my job to argue against her “woe is me” tween attitude with a list of all the things she’s good at. I hope to show her that she has a number of amazing talents, but she only sticks up her nose with a “you have to think that way, you’re my dad” sort of vibe.

But as we watched Is It Cake?, I decided to try a different approach. I looked at my preteen daughter, who was leaning against the arm of the couch, eyes sullen, brown hair falling into her face, feeling like a failure. I shrugged and said, “It’s OK to not be good at anything. It’s OK to not be the best at something. Or the greatest at something. Or to never win first place. I guess what I’m saying is, it’s OK to just be you. Because you have value just the way you are.”

I gave Norah one of those fatherly flicks on her nose and, while I’m not sure I said the right thing (I never really am), Norah gave me the sweetest half smile and relaxed deeper into the sofa, almost like she’d been waiting her whole life to hear someone say that. 

She leaned into my side, and we snuggled on the sofa and finished watching Is It Cake? I got the impression that Norah was feeling a little more comfortable in her own skin, just as she was learning to admire the unique skills of others. And as the credits rolled, we talked for one more moment about maybe making a cake, but luckily I convinced her we should go get ice cream instead.