Thursday, 20 September 2012
MY LITTLE SWEETIE RAPTOR
Daughters are special. More special than sons because of the emotional investment required. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my son’s very much, but a daughter brain is more of a challenge than a son’s brain. As an example, I once told my 14 year old son how important it was to me that his sister only date good boys and also how important it was to me that he also be a good boy. He asked did that mean he had to date his sister? In retrospect, it‘s funny now, but back then I worried a lot about him and his misfiring synapses. In the final analysis, all my son’s did well, but, as for my daughter, she held my blood pressure and apoplexy hostage for years.
Back then, any competent astronomer could predict with absolute accuracy just where every star in the universe would be at 11:00 at night, but none of them could predict where my teenage daughter could be at that time. Boyfriends were my nemesis and archrivals for my daughter. My beautiful daughter was like a flower that filled my world with beauty, and like a flower, sometimes attracted pests. These pests came in all complexions and mentalities and were like Mongol warriors ravaging the land with hopes of ravishing my daughter.
I know I was tough on the guys, but it was to protect my little girl and her….you know….assets, which she poorly protected. I remember the breakfast table debates over her clothes. After spending over hour in the bathroom, (I could rule out reading), she would come to the table dressed like it was Casual Sex Day at school. “No way, young lady. You need to cover some of that terrain before frostbite sets in.”
“This is the style,” she would yawn.
“You dress like those entrepreneurs walking up and down Madison street!”
“Well at least there, I’d get to wear what I want.”
“You know, your gonna hate prison, cause everyone's gonna be dressed just like you!” I would grunt.
“Please say I was switched at birth,” she would groan while she ate yogurt. My eyes would cross and her Mom would intervene and tell our daughter not to upset me, else I might end up having dinner with Jesus later. So, some sort of fashion compromise would be made between her and her mom, but I knew once she was out the door, that the compromise would be null and void.
She would then scamper out the front door to wait on her current boyfriend. They knew never to pull into my driveway and honk, unless they were delivering a package, because they sure as hell would not be picking one up. Most of the boys she corrupted were afraid of me and every time I met one, I always put on my best zombie sneer. Each guy she dated for the first time, I would always slipped him a note with the address of the Immaculate Transgressor Convent in Cloverdale. I then whispered that if he ever got her home later than midnight, that he was to just turn around and deliver my daughter to the convent and then he needed to go and join the Navy. Seemed to have worked, and few, if any, ever dated her again.
Well, she finally grew up and in spite of her Mom’s cuddling, she did well. She, and her Navy husband, gave us two wonderful granddaughters that I spoil each time I visit. They will be teenagers soon and I can’t wait!