Fathers of the world listen up.
The daughter you have so valiantly protected from spiders, vicious dogs, their brothers and their mother for so many years will one day grow up.
You will then be called upon (not by them) to protect them from "the boy next door.
" Don't get me wrong, she will still be Daddy's little girl.
However, you will have to take that roll and plant it firmly in the back seat...
of your daughter's life...
not her boyfriend's car.
If you're lucky you might only have to go through this learning curve once and then you're done...
unless you happen to have fathered an entire harem.
My dad was next to the youngest of8 children.
Six of them were girls so one might assume he would be prepared for what was to come.
He wasn't.
When our two older sisters were born he began to squirm a little.
By the time number five came along he hadmoved from panic to complete insanity.
As my oldest sister approached dating age he already had a plan firmly in place.
She was not to leave the house without Daddy's salmon-sinkers placed inconspicuously in the bottom of her purse beneath her hanky, lipstick, and can of mace.
Her date was only to take her to very public places, where the whistle in her dress pocket could be clearly heard, and she was to be home by 9:00 pm or he would break the legs of said date.
As each successive daughter came of age, and no one had been beaten or raped yet, he began to soften a little.
By the time I started dating I had convinced him to lose the sinkers and mace and I was allowed to leave the house with a dime in my shoe for an emergency phone call.
I did wonder how he figured I'd be able to convince my attacker to drive me to a phone booth first, but didn't think it a wise thing to mention.
The boys I chose to date at the beginning were fairly harmless-looking and Daddy became comfortable with just waiting for us to pull into the driveway, at which time he would flick the porch light on and off until I was escorted unscathed to the door.
Then I fell for a drummer.
Though this was during the 60s, my father was not quite prepared for what was to knock on his door.
Though the blood visibly drained from his face, I was surprised when he didn't put the poor boy through his normal interrogation.
In fact he didn't say a word until we walked out the door, at which time he emerged from his shock long enough to murmur fervently, "I hope she's got her dime.
" I think it's safe to say that allowing your child out of the nest on occasion may require a little self-control.
After a lot of trial and error with my own children, I finally came to the conclusion that, if it won't land them in the hospital, jail, or outer darkness, it might be safe to say, "OK kid, knock yourself out!"...
or something along those lines.
The daughter you have so valiantly protected from spiders, vicious dogs, their brothers and their mother for so many years will one day grow up.
You will then be called upon (not by them) to protect them from "the boy next door.
" Don't get me wrong, she will still be Daddy's little girl.
However, you will have to take that roll and plant it firmly in the back seat...
of your daughter's life...
not her boyfriend's car.
If you're lucky you might only have to go through this learning curve once and then you're done...
unless you happen to have fathered an entire harem.
My dad was next to the youngest of8 children.
Six of them were girls so one might assume he would be prepared for what was to come.
He wasn't.
When our two older sisters were born he began to squirm a little.
By the time number five came along he hadmoved from panic to complete insanity.
As my oldest sister approached dating age he already had a plan firmly in place.
She was not to leave the house without Daddy's salmon-sinkers placed inconspicuously in the bottom of her purse beneath her hanky, lipstick, and can of mace.
Her date was only to take her to very public places, where the whistle in her dress pocket could be clearly heard, and she was to be home by 9:00 pm or he would break the legs of said date.
As each successive daughter came of age, and no one had been beaten or raped yet, he began to soften a little.
By the time I started dating I had convinced him to lose the sinkers and mace and I was allowed to leave the house with a dime in my shoe for an emergency phone call.
I did wonder how he figured I'd be able to convince my attacker to drive me to a phone booth first, but didn't think it a wise thing to mention.
The boys I chose to date at the beginning were fairly harmless-looking and Daddy became comfortable with just waiting for us to pull into the driveway, at which time he would flick the porch light on and off until I was escorted unscathed to the door.
Then I fell for a drummer.
Though this was during the 60s, my father was not quite prepared for what was to knock on his door.
Though the blood visibly drained from his face, I was surprised when he didn't put the poor boy through his normal interrogation.
In fact he didn't say a word until we walked out the door, at which time he emerged from his shock long enough to murmur fervently, "I hope she's got her dime.
" I think it's safe to say that allowing your child out of the nest on occasion may require a little self-control.
After a lot of trial and error with my own children, I finally came to the conclusion that, if it won't land them in the hospital, jail, or outer darkness, it might be safe to say, "OK kid, knock yourself out!"...
or something along those lines.