I may have been a little premature when I retired from my job as a cop last fall. What was I thinking? I have two children, both of whom are girls. The oldest will be 11 next month and these days "11 is the new 13". Had I not chosen to retire, the demands of my job would have continued to keep me away from my family, so it's not that part that I am lamenting. My pension is quite a bit smaller than my salary was, but that's not the reason why I may regret "pulling the pin" when I did. Sure, kids are expensive and as they grow the cost of the things they need, want, and desire grow at a warp factor that defies this dad's logic and his paycheck. What I miss most is no longer having a gun and handcuffs.
Soon after Kendall came into the world on that July day as a millennium baby, I have received advice from all quarters as to the best way to be a dad. Some of the advice has been good, some, not so good. For the most part, I have been no different that the billions of fathers that have come before me, whether they be human or of the animal kingdom. The recipe has two simple ingredients - a pinch of winging it and more importantly, keeping from going from the frying pan into the fire by failing to keep our partners happy. An occasional dash of flowers (by the bouquet, but not the dried or the synthetic ones) and mixing in weekly sessions for the mom to have girlfriend time and any dad will probably have done enough so as to be allowed to keep his spot as the figurehead alpha of the family.
Being a cop brought along with it advice from my police colleagues, many of who were at least a decade ahead of me as fathers of the finer sex. The advice they gave me did not register with me at the time. It is only now that I am beginning to understand what they meant. The advice related to protecting my daughters. Protecting them from the most lethal thing that they will encounter in their lives - boys. I thought they were just joking. My chuckles have turned into a painful grimace because I can no longer heed their advice and I now wish that I could. Any good cop, who has a daughter being pursued by a boy, needs to have The Talk with that boy. All dads need to have this chat, but cops have the inside track. My cop counsellors advised told me that when the time came, have the boy sit with you and have him declare his intentions towards your daughter. What he said would not really be that important, nor would any of the rules you imposed on his courtship. The most important thing was to make sure that you were cleaning your gun at the same time. Your point would be loud and clear!
I haven't figured out what I'm going to do once I finally discover that Kendall has her first real boyfriend. I'll have to come up with something fairly soon though. Kendall and her friends have recently formed a club and named it the Piccl Girls. Piccl is pronounced pickle and they apparently have developed a corresponding Piccl language. As soon as the Piccl Girls allow boys in and let them bring their pickles to the club, then I'll know it's probably too late. I need to find a new career and quick. It'll have to be one that will give me the tools needed to protect my precious children, until they are at least 25 or 30 years old. A fireman's hose is not intimidating enough; an accountant's pocket protector won't put the fear of god in any boy who has but one thought on his mind; construction workers have nail guns and electric saws, so that is a possibility, even if I have never been able to build anything of note my entire life (including years of trying with Legos).
Surely, somewhere out there, there is a dad who has the answer. Let me know what has worked for you. I'll consider any and all options, as long as you are not or never have been incarcerated due to executing your idea. Just in case you are wondering, as for missing my handcuffs as much as I miss my gun, that has nothing to do with my protecting the virtue of my two daughters. That has more to do with the fact that my beautiful wife likes pickles.
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