So today I had to meet the “boyfriend”. My 8th grade daughter was being escorted to the mall by a young man, driven by his mother. It was my job to meet, observe and decide if it was cool to allow this tryst to proceed. This was my paternal duty; a duty that I take very seriously, much to my daughters chagrin.
The doorbell rang and I answered the door dressed in casual slacks, loafers and a golf shirt. The young admirer was wearing, cowboy boots, jeans, old t-shirt and a beat up camo ball cap. To accent his very country appearance I noticed the classic teenage half stash above his upper lip. My mind said, “Hmmm” but still I reserved judgment. He looked me in the eye and shook my hand. This was a plus. His mother seems very pleasant and was a genuinely nice person from what I could gather.
I asked what “the plan” was and he responded that they were going to the mall to “check everything out.” I joked back, “Well I hope you don’t check out everything.” We all laughed. He laughed a little more nervously than the adults, as was my intention. He seemed like a good kid.
I called my daughter down and after the logistics were all cleared and I knew her arrival time and method, I saw them out the door with, “Have fun, I’ll be here cleaning my guns until you get back.” Again, there was nervous laughter from those under driving age and genuine laughter from those above it.
I closed the door and thought that everything had gone well. I decided that he passed muster.
I turned to slip my shoes off to return upstairs to my office and noticed that my fly was down. The irony washed over me like a shocking bucket of ice water in the sweltering summer heat. Believe me, whatever you have been thinking as you read the above, went through my head in a split second. Oh the humility of it all.
There is a 70% chance that they didn’t notice, but I still don’t like those odds.
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