When My Girls Start to Date

This weekend, Annie and I had the unparalleled joy of a visit from one of our granddaughters – little, adorable, almost three-year-old, Harper.  We had so much fun running, playing kickball and hide-and-seek, gathering eggs, playing with the dogs, swinging on the swingset and the porch-swing, and watching the wildlife.  Our day was full.  Then, as the evening drew to a close, I relaxed in my recliner with a cartoon about trolls or something on the TV.  Cute little Harper climbed up onto my lap and snuggled up to me…and we talked.  She’s very smart for a three-year-old.

It occurred to me that, somewhere in the world, there’s a little boy who will someday ask her out on her first date.

May God have mercy on his soul, because I won’t.

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Everyone knows that Annie and I had six smart, strong, hard-working, hard-playing boys…and no girls.  Oh, we wanted a daughter or two.  That’s how we ended up with six boys; we kept trying for a girl.

But now I’m glad we never got one.  Why?  Because we have granddaughters!

Now, don’t get me wrong; I love each and every one of my daughters-in-law.  They’re close enough to being our own daughters for me.  I wouldn’t trade ‘em for nothin’!  But I’m glad somebody else raised them.

You see, when you have a son, you only have to worry about your own son, but when you have a daughter, you have to worry about everybody’s son!  Annie and I put all our time and effort into teaching our boys how to treat girls with respect and to love them for themselves, but I’ve been in enough locker rooms to know that some other people raise their sons a little differently, and I do NOT approve.

Fathers of daughters have known that for eons.  Some Dad somewhere took the time to write down a list of rules for any youngster who wanted to date his daughter(s).  The rules have been borrowed, stolen, and repeated over, and over.  They have been shared via email millions of times, printed on t-shirts and coffee cups, and now, with Harper and her girl cousins named Matthews weighting on my mind, I’m sharing those rules on my blog.

You’re welcome.

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Ten Simple Rules for Dating My Daughter

Rule One:
If you pull into my driveway and honk, you’d better be delivering a package, because you’re sure not picking anything up.

Rule Two:
You do not touch my daughter in front of me.  You may glance at her, so long as you do not peer at anything below her neck.  If you cannot keep your eyes or hands off of my daughter’s body, I will remove them.

Rule Three:
I am aware that it is considered fashionable for boys of your age to wear their trousers so loosely that they appear to be falling off their hips.  Please don’t take this as an insult, but you and all of your friends are complete idiots.  Still, I want to be fair and open minded about this issue, so I propose this compromise: you may come to the door with your underwear showing and your pants ten sizes too big, and I will not object.  However, In order to ensure that your clothes do not, in fact, come off during the course of your date with my daughter, I will take my electric nail gun and fasten your trousers securely in place…to your waist.

Rule Four:
I’m sure you’ve been told that in today’s world, sex without utilizing a “barrier” of some kind can kill you.  Let me clarify: when it comes to sex, I am the barrier, and I will kill you.

Rule Five:
In order for us to get to know each other, we should talk about sports, politics, and other issues of the day.  Please do not do this.  The only information I require from you is an indication of when you expect to have my daughter safely back at my house, and the only word I need from you on this subject is “early.”

Rule Six:
I have no doubt you are a popular fellow, with many opportunities to date other girls.  This is fine with me as long as it is okay with my daughter.  Otherwise, once you have gone out with my little girl, you will continue to date no one but her until she is finished with you.  If you make her cry, I will make you cry.

Rule Seven:
As you stand in my front hallway waiting for my daughter to appear, and more than an hour goes by, do not sigh and fidget.  If you want to be on time for the movie, you should not be dating.  My daughter is putting on her makeup, a process that can take longer than painting the Golden Gate Bridge.  Instead of just standing there, why don’t you do something useful, like changing the oil in my car?

Rule Eight:
The following places are not appropriate for a date with my daughter:
– Places where there are beds, sofas, or anything softer than a wooden stool.
– Places where there are no parents, policemen, or nuns within eyesight.
– Places where there is darkness.
– Places where there is dancing, holding hands, or happiness.
– Places where the ambient temperature is warm enough to induce my daughter to wear shorts, tank tops, midriff T-shirts, or anything other than overalls, a sweater, and a goose down parka zipped up to her throat.
– Movies with a strong romantic or sexual theme are to be avoided; movies which feature chainsaws are okay.
– Hockey games are okay.
– Old folks homes are better.

Rule Nine:
Do not lie to me.  I may appear to be a potbellied, balding, middle-aged, dimwitted has-been, but on issues relating to my daughter, I am the all-knowing, merciless god of your universe.  If I ask you where you are going and with whom, you have one chance to tell me the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God.  I have a shotgun, a shovel, and five acres behind the house.  Do not trifle with me.

Rule Ten:
Be afraid.  Be very afraid.  It takes very little for me to mistake the sound of your car in the driveway for a chopper coming in over a rice paddy outside of Hanoi.  When my Agent Orange starts acting up, the voices in my head frequently tell me to clean the guns as I wait for you to bring my daughter home.  As soon as you pull into the driveway you should exit your car with both hands in plain sight.  Speak the perimeter password, announce in a clear voice that you have brought my daughter home safely and early, then return to your car.  There is no need for you to come inside.  The camouflaged face at the window is mine.

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Our son, J.B. and his lovely wife, Candi, have two beautiful, loving, dainty daughters, Addy and Ally.  He tells me that the phrase, “boys will be boys,” is not a light-hearted quip when spoken by fathers of daughter.

In fact, J.B. came up with his own version of the warning he will give the boys who want to court his girls.  He’ll meet the lad at the door with a firm handshake and the greeting, “I’ve taught each of my daughters to make complex judgmental decisions about a potential suitor’s character traits…better than I ever could from the outside looking in, and to make decisions based on her belief of justice and morality.  She should come to her own conclusions based on her observations and beliefs.  

“I’ll be silently standing by watching and waiting in the shadows.  If she so desires, I will remove the inappropriate situation from her reality.”

That’s a little easier to pull off than his original plan.  His first idea was to have the young suitor come into the house where all five of his brothers, two tattoo-covered brothers-in-law, his former Marine father and Candi’s dad, all sitting around cleaning various shotguns.  The kid will walk in to find some of us talking about the “special training” we got in the military and J.B.’s old, high school buddy, Russell, who’s about 6’4” and weighs in the neighborhood of 300 pounds, standing nearby, saying, “I really kind of liked my time in prison.  I wouldn’t mind going back.”

Maybe the warning would be easier, but I think the original plan would be more fun.

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Parents should allow a daughter to date as soon as they feel safe letting her tackle the world on her own. 

You raise her to be a responsible, hard-wording, happy-to-be-alive, woman, then you set her free to take on life.  “Go get ‘em, Tiger!  …uh, I mean, Sweetheart.”

Most of our boys started dating around the age of sixteen, so I think that would be a good age for my granddaughters to start dating too…as long as their daddies go along…and take their guns…and a shovel.

Just sayin’.

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