Fathered Five

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You know that funny list of “rules for dating my daughter?” It’s been floating around the Internet for as long as I’ve been online. I’ve always gotten a chuckle out of it. Here’s an abbreviated version (condensed from the whole version, here):

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…

Rule Three: … 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: … Let me elaborate: when it comes to sex, I am the barrier, and I will kill you.

Rule Five: … 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: … If you make her cry, I will make you cry.

Rule Seven: … 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 change 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. …

Rule Nine: Do not lie to me. … I have a shotgun, a shovel, and five acres behind the house. Do not trifle with me.

Rule Ten: Be afraid. Be very afraid. …

Really do check out the whole thing because it’s pretty funny. Something about it recently clicked for me and it’s not merely amusing anymore. I realized that the list is about anxiety. Sexual fear and dread were the fuel in that writer’s gas tank. I get it now.

Girl 15 has a boyfriend. He’s one of the gaggle of friends that she’s constantly talking to or hanging out with, and they spend a LOT of time together. I’m uncomfortable with this. It’s not that I’m afraid she’s having sex—a thought too icky to contemplate (I get queasy even writing it). It’s that I know that one day she will!

What is this anxiety about?? Yes, yes—I know rationally that it’s irrational, that sex is normal, that teens are hormones with legs—I know all that. But knowing it doesn’t lessen my anxiety.

My mistake was trying to act on it.

The crash and burn part
No, I didn’t give the list to the boy or answer the door wearing camouflage face paint. I tried to talk to Girl 15 about it! (I know! I felt like I was playing the role of the stupid dad in a badly written sitcom. Oh…wait a minute…) The conversation went something like this:

“Dad, when I’m 16, can we extend my curfew from 11 to midnight?”

“Maybe. It depends on who you’re spending time with.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean if you’re hanging out with a bunch of friends in a group, it might be okay. But if you’re going to be just with Boyfriend, then no, we can’t move your curfew.”

“We’re always with other friends. We’re almost never alone.”

“Well, but still. How are planning to date other people if you’re always with him? Others will think you’re not available.”

“I don’t know. We’ve talked about it. I want to date other people. We both do. But I don’t want to not date him. “

“Me and mom tried dating others. It didn’t work so well.”

“So what would you do different?”

“Well, I don’t know. Maybe it can’t be done.”

“The only way to make sure that doesn’t happen is to break up. And I’d rather die. He’s my best friend. And we couldn’t stay friends if we broke up.” She’s a pretty smart kid.

“That’s probably true, especially since you’ve already been more than friends. Do you make out?”

This is where you should hear the record-scratching sound in the background music. I heard it at the time. As soon as it was out of my mouth I regretted it because I realized I didn’t want to know!

I need to break from the script a bit here because you have to understand some things about Utah culture. Utah is 62% Mormon. The area where I live is 69%. In orthodox Mormon households, teenagers don’t “date” until they’re 16, and only in groups until they’re 18, though that recommendation is less stringently followed. And by “date” I mean boy and girl go somewhere together, he pays, he opens doors for her, and so on. That definition is also a product of Utah culture. The hope is that they’re better equipped to deal with the … temptations of dating the opposite sex after they turn 16. It’s a noble hope, and maybe it’s working. Utah has the 6th lowest teen pregnancy rate of the U.S. states (53/1000 vs. 82/1000 for the country overall), and the number is trending down (as it is all over the country).

So, though kids don’t officially “date” before they turn 16, “hanging out” in mixed-sex groups is allowed and even encouraged. The less conservative Mormon parents don’t mind a girl pairing off with a boy as long as it’s not a “date,” and as long as the pairing is chaste and in full daylight. Yeah, you’re beginning to see the schizophrenia.

Girl 15 is in full “hang out” mode, with occasional pairing off (on the back stairs, say, not the guest bedroom) with Boyfriend. Now back to our regularly scheduled daddy dumbassery [the voice from some other Fathered Five in square brackets]:

“Do you make out? [say what? What did you just say?]”

What?? Why do you want to know? I so don’t want to talk about this with you.”

“It’s—I…well, it’s a legitimate question.”

“How is it?”

[Yeah, I’d like to know that, too.] “Because it’s my business. Your business is my business.”

“Yeah, but this is embarrassing.”

[You would have pulled out every pubic hair one by one before talking about this to your mother at 15!]

“It’s embarrassing for me too!”

Looonngggg pause

“Well, yeah, but not that much,” she said, and I realized not only that I didn’t want to know but that I’d always already known. That it was inevitable, that it was the business of teens to do what their parents did and their parents before them, and to stay as far away from the subject as possible, and never, under any circumstances (for the love of God!), to talk about it with parents. But there we were.

[Ok, Mr. Dutiful Dad, Mr. “Your Business is My Business.” Now what?] I didn’t know now what. I hadn’t planned for this contingency. Hadn’t planned to ask the question, much less get an answer! “Well…that’s… just going to continue…to go on. The more time you spend together, the more…time…you get more intimate…emotionally and physically. Once you start down that road, there’s no stopping.” [Lame.]

“We’re not that physical.”

We pulled up to Blockbuster and both leapt from the car to escape. Thank You, Blockbuster! Oh merciful distraction! Picked out a movie (Norbit. Don’t waste your time.). Went back to the car for the loooong mile home. What do you do with knowledge you’re unprepared for and that is more than slightly distasteful? You can’t wipe it off your brain like dog poop off your shoe. Nothing to do but forge ahead:

“Well, now that we’re both embarrassed, I might as well just go ahead and give the message that I intended by asking the question.” [Oh, I can’t wait to hear this.] “You both might think you’re in control and making decisions, but you’re not. It’s not about reason and thinking. Your hormones are in control, and it will become easier each time to … go further.”

Looonnngggg pause

“So what do you want me to do?” she said. I swear she said that. What a great kid!

[I want you to just beat me with a 2×4 now, please. Thanks.] “Well, what I want…In my ideal world… and I don’t expect you to do this and am not asking you to do it. Cuz you already said that it’s not an option. That is that you don’t see each other anymore.”

“Is it him that you have an issue with?”

“No. It’s the idea of you and any guy. And that’s my issue, my anxiety, and I realize that. But what I do want and do expect you to do is to spend less time with him.”

“And how do you suggest I do that?”

“Hell if I know. Just, you know, don’t spend…as much. Time.”

“Right. Gotcha. I promise I won’t have sex until I’m married. Is that what you want to hear?”

“Eww! No!” I thought of those creepy purity balls, where girls of various ages pledge their virginity to their fathers, who in turn pledge to be the protector of her golden gate. It’s one of the weirdest things that Evangelical culture has come up with, in my opinion, and to think that she thought that’s what I wanted was a punch in the gut. “I just wanted to open the door to talk about this, so that, you know.”

She gave me a blank stare.

“In a parent’s ideal world, our children come talk to us about these things. So now maybe we can if … you want to…anyway, I thought it needed to be open, even if you don’t walk through it.”

I honestly don’t know what to think about our “chat.” I think it was good that we broached the subject, but it was as uncomfortable as a sand burr in the jock strap. Both of us were mortally embarrassed. That was two nights ago. Then tonight we were talking about going to Red Box to get “Wild Hogs.”

“I’m never getting in a car with you again!” she said. It was funny because I was thinking the exact same thing! “I’m afraid you’ll open more doors. Do you promise?”

I promise! For the life of me and for the everlasting comfort of my jock straps, I promise!

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This entry was posted on Thursday, August 16th, 2007 at 7:18 am and is filed under Daughters, Musings. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.