I used to worry…

In the before time, I thought my daughter turning sixteen would worry me to exhaustion because she would suddenly develop “Girl Parts”, become an emotional hurricane, start talking about boys, and want expensive clothes I can’t afford. I have enough problems without a pubescent female homo-sapien roaming my house wanting me to teach her how to drive. Back then, she was a princess of love with long flowing hair and large brown eyes. Even Disney Studios would have been jealous of her cute little round face. Ohh to have those innocent times again. Times where I would bask in my love for my pretty little angel as all the while she was wrapping me around her little finger and plotting world domination.

Now I’m terrified!

That was then, this is now. My daughter has turned sixteen and worry doesn’t even enter the equation of emotions; Confusion, doubt, betrayal, frustration, wondering what the heck her mother did to her because this could no way be my fault, and fear, lots of fear are what come to mind these days. I have heard that girls are harder than boys as teens, well I won’t say that but they certainly different.

The differences in stupidness between raising Girls and Boys

My sons were just confusing. They grew up, and wanted to do stupid stuff. The older they got, the stupider the stuff. This I understood, a slow evolving male stupidity is natural, healthy even. I never condoned it. Well not as far as my wife knew, I mean it was so freaking awesome, down in the ravine behind our house, when my son… And he never should have done that. He could have gotten hurt a lot worse. It’s a terrible example of how… Sorry my wife walked by. Boy, having that rear-view camera on my computer sure comes in handy, but I digress.

My daughter on the other hand, reacts in a totally different way. She’s less a progressive stupid and more of an explosive stupid. Have you ever seen the 1959 Disney movie Sleeping Beauty? It’s good, check it out. I mention it is because there’s a scene, well actually there’s lots of scenes, but there’s one particular scene where the evil fairy, Maleficent, gets mad and turns from a cute green person into a fire-breathing dragon with all the powers of Hell. That’s more like my daughter. Of course, the moment I cower in total fear, and decide whatever issue, in her favor she smiles and gives me a hug and all is well. I told you I’m wrapped around her finger. I’d be much stronger if she’d deal more with her mother, and leave me out of it. Anyway, that’s my feelings about raising teenagers and maybe I should write a book. I’d probably title it. Grab Your Helmet, She’s Gonna Blow.

Compared to my own stupidness

When I was in my own male stupid years, I purchased a set of balanced throwing knives. I thought it would be neat to get good and attack the squirrels around the house. That was the idea anyway. Don’t worry animal lovers. No living creatures were injured in the making of this story, unless you include me. Those things are sharp. Nevertheless, I bought the knives, made a target and practiced hard, and improved. I went all the way from terrible to lousy when I decided that the target was boring and I stupidly started throwing them at the ground. If you know anything about knife care, you don’t do that. So, the story goes; The knives rusted, I gave it up, found other stupid things to do, the squirrels continued to laugh at me, and the world kept turning. The reason I mention this is because I was sure I was going to have to dig them out and clean them up when my daughter started looking at boys. Not so much. I wish she would look at boys!

She doesn’t like boys She likes??

At first when she said she didn’t like boys I cheered. Then she said it wasn’t the boy it was the motorcycle. My daughter can’t resist a gasoline engine on two wheels for anything. If there’s flames painted on the tank it’s love at first sight. Enter Spider. I work with Spider. He is six-three, sixty-two years old, scraggily beard covering his pock marked face and he weighs about three-hundred, but he wears a leather vest and rides a black motorcycle with flames. My princess is in love. Spider’s not a bad guy, but my baby is sixteen. I thought I would be able to stand up against any kid for her. If I threw a knife at Spider, it would probably get within five feet, stop, turn around suddenly, and go screaming into the woods saying, “Ey Ey Ey Ey…” What’s a father to do? I finally outsmarted her hormones at the company picnic when she met Spider’s wife. She was heartbroken over him but still keeps a picture of his motorcycle in her room. The guy is gone, but the bike lives on, and on.

Or She likes??

Another thing I was afraid of was expensive clothes. I just knew her power over me would destroy my budget with designer labels. Again, I was wrong. My angel loves to shop at second hand and thrift shops. The cruddier and sleazier the better. At first, I thought she was into retro fashion, this might have been cool, but alas, she wanted clothes she could abuse and tear up before she wears them. The reason for this is simple, she wants to show off tattoos when she gets them, just like Spike.

Spike is my neighbor, Trey’s brother. He’s a mechanic and comes by on a regular basis to keep their cars in good order. In fact, he’s fixed a few things on my cars as well. He’s actually really good except for all his tattoos, and my daughter infatuation with them. I don’t know how, but she has catalogued every dragon, snake, bloody heart, and naked mother, on Spike’s body, and can’t wait till she can get several of her own. Again, she’s sixteen, maybe I’m being judgey, but there will be no tattoos in my house. The Dad has spoken!! Not that this actually means anything, but I like to believe it does. Yep, my word is law, as long as that’s okay with my wife.

My solution to an age old problem

So, here’s my dilemma; My daughter loves motorcycles, tattoos, and strange spooky nicknames. My ability to throw knives is not going to deter any young man with these attributes. In fact, he’s likely to eat my knives, and that’s just not right. Therefore, I needed a plan. I came up with Operation Skull.

On the next street over is a wholesome college freshman named Paul, who just so happens to have a crush on my daughter. I bought him a book of temporary tattoos, a denim vest with no sleeves, and a postcard picture of a Harley-Davidson Motorcycle. I told him to get all dressed up and come calling on my girl. He had the gall to say no to me. He told me, men should be themselves and be honest with women. What’s that all about? Well, to heck with him!

These young people are so confusing now-a-days.