When I was in high school I used to be
terrified of my girlfriend�s father, who I believe suspected me of
wanting to place my hands on his daughter�s chest. He would open
the door and immediately affect a good-naturedly murderous
expression, holding out a handshake that, when gripped, felt like it
could squeeze carbon into diamonds.
Now, years later, it is my turn to be the dad. Remembering how
unfairly persecuted I felt when I would pick up my dates, I do my
best to make my daughter�s suitors feel even worse. My motto: wilt
them in the living room and they�ll stay wilted all night.
�So,� I�ll call out jovially. �I see you have your nose
pierced. Is that because you�re stupid, or did you merely want to
APPEAR stupid?�
As a dad, I have some basic rules, which I have carved into two
stone tablets that I have on display in my living room.
Rule One - If you pull into my driveway and honk you�d
better be delivering a package, because you�re sure as heck 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 assure that your clothes do not, in fact, come off during
the course of your date with my daughter, I will take my electric
staple gun and fasten your trousers securely in place around your
waist.
Rule Four - I�m sure you�ve been told that in today�s
world, sex without utilizing a �barrier method� of some kind can
kill you. Let me elaborate: 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 which 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 lacking parents,
policemen, or nuns. 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 chin.
Movies with a strong romantic or sexual theme are to be avoided;
movies which feature chainsaws are okay. Hockey games are okay.
My daughter claims it embarrasses her to come
downstairs and find me attempting to get her date to recite these
eight simple rules from memory. I�d be embarrassed too�-there
are only eight of them, for crying out loud! And, for the record, I
did NOT suggest to one of these cretins that I�d have these rules
tattooed on his arm if he couldn�t remember them. (I checked into
it and the cost is prohibitive.) I merely told him that I thought
writing the rules on his arm with a ball point might be
inadequate-�ink washes off-�and that my wood burning set was
probably a better alternative.
One time, when my wife caught me having one of my daughter�s
would-be suitors practice pulling into the driveway, get out of the
car, and go up to knock on the front door (he had violated rule
number one, so I figured he needed to run through the drill a few
dozen times) she asked me why I was being so hard on the boy.
�Don�t you remember being that age?� she challenged.
Of course I remember. Why do you think I came up with the eight
simple rules?
Original �Copyright
1998 W. Bruce Cameron
 
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