Here I am, 46 years into my trip toward room temperature, and I am still having to deal with girls’ emotions. I have been coming to terms with not understanding women, or at least knowing when to stay away when they feel like expressing their intelligence. And nearly 20 years of marriage has conditioned me for another 20 years of “whatever’s” and “yes dears.” So why now, after I have paid my dues, must I once again deal with teenage girls?
My dating years were not the best of years. My self esteem was irreparably scarred by the time one of my first dates asked me to drop her off early…in a parking lot…alone. Girls were like a fire to which I was drawn, and I was the helpless bug continually getting squashed. Therefore, since I am convinced teenage girls are hosts to alien invaders, why must I be forced to give aid and comfort to the enemy of mankind?
If I had to guess, part of the curse of the Fall was having to raise teenage girls. You can’t live with them, and you can’t ______ (you fill in the blank – I’m not going to incriminate myself) their boyfriends.
I was once a boyfriend, and I hated myself for it. That is why I think it is my responsibility to guide other young men away from my daughters. Being a boyfriend is the last thing they should want to be. Staying away is best thing they can do.
However, what I find troubling is the attempt my daughter is making to fool me. She insists that her friend, a boy, is not a boyfriend. Yet, whenever a letter comes in the mail (in between the 42,584 texts), she grins and squeals as she reads it over and over. She invites him over to bake for him on his birthday and have pictures made together with their cheeks touching each other’s goofy faces. Believe, where there is chocolate, followed by physical contact of any kind, I am not fooled.
Between the Lines
So, tonight I made a comment that got Katie asking me all kinds of questions. In casual conversation, my so-far-alien-free daughter, Haley, asked, “When Katie and ____ (insert name or expletive, doesn’t matter) get married…” Excuse me?
That’s when I interrupted with, “She is not gonna marry _____.”
My single, unmarried, unspoken-for, and alien-inhabited daughter, Katie.
Later, when I was sitting at the computer, Katie came to kiss me goodnight and asked, “Why did you say I couldn’t marry ______ (insert name of endangered species)?”
Correct me if I am wrong, but was I not told that the non-boyfriend was just a friend? Then why would my statement about who she’s not going to marry be an issue? If my dad had told me I wasn’t going to marry my friend Kevin, it wouldn’t have hurt my feelings one bit. So what’s the deal with endangered boy and daydreamer?
If she marries he-who-walks-on-thin-ice, then I’ll be forced to like him. Until then, what’s wrong with simply protecting a non-boyfriend from a danger he can’t understand? Who knows? If I spare him from being abducted by an alien, I might be the best friend the non-boyfriend boy friend could ever have.
He will thank me, later.