There is a song, in the Broadway musical Fiddler On The Roof, called Sunrise Sunset. No, it’s not about global-warming. Why does everything have to be about global-warming these days? I mean… Oh wait, we were talking about the song. The song is a very sensitive melody about how the years fly by as your children grow. Awwwwwwe. Also, before you poke fun at me for listening to show-tunes, this one has been covered by the likes of B J Thomas, Perry Como, and others. It’s really a good tune, bring a tear to my eye every time I hear it. Too bad the words are a load of malarkey.
My kids are growing right now, and let me tell you the years are not flying by. And if I ever need to be reminded of them as children. I can just look up the hospital receipts and count the stiches. Theirs and mine. In my opinion, growing up isn’t a series of days. It’s a progression of how dangerous your child’s vehicle is. We move from toes being crunched by a walker, to holes on walls from the little push cars. Then motorized vehicles to tricycles, to scooters, to skates, to bikes, on to the ultimate holy grail of a vehicle, (pause for effect) the automobile. Yes, last year my son learned to drive. Actually, he’s a good driver but the event still means more nerve pills for me.
The thing is, several years back I set him in the driver seat of my car, and his legs didn’t reach the pedals. Yesterday, I got into my car and the seat was set so far back, I couldn’t reach them. Yes, he’s taller than me, by a good six inches. Before you comment: yes, I knew he’d grow. But you’ve got to remember, I am a bit of a nerd. I’ve always been afraid of people who are bigger than me. Now I’ve got one living in my house, and my other son is closing in fast. It’s all quite worrying.
Yes, the boys are a source of concern. But the one that really gets me is my daughter. The little one who as a baby ate a pizza box. The princess with stitches. My angel with a head injury. With the way she treated her brothers, we all figured she’d grow up to be a professional wrestler. But No!
The other day, she told me she wanted to get her ears pierced. This shouldn’t have been an odd request. Millions of men, women and children get their ears pierced every day. No biggie. In point of fact, my issue had nothing to do with her ears whatsoever. The trouble came when she uttered the simple word, “Please.” Again, that word shouldn’t have been anything, but as she said it, I was transported back to high school. When Jill Crispanznik, asked me to carry her backpack.
You see Jill wasn’t like my daughter. Jill was a girl. In those days when a girl spoke to me, my brains turned to liquid and seeped out my ears and fell right on the floor. If I’m remembering right, I believe my answer to Jill was something like, “Ayu egga gaaah dujing.” Actually, I don’t recall the exact quote, but I do remember I had a sappy look on my face. Jill was the first in a long line of mind escaping experiences. Finally, I learned to talk to pretty girls and met my wife. The rest is history.
Blah Blah Blah, and all this being said, I am actually afraid of girls. I was ever so grateful that my daughter was not one of them. Then suddenly without warning there was this girl in my house. She had on dresses and everything. My first impulse was to throw the beast out in the street. But my wife intervened. She informed me that my daughter was now thirteen. Who the heck allowed that to happen?
My daughter was cool, you know, one of the guys. Now she smiles at me and my whole being forms itself into a string and wraps easily around her little finger. Then she gives me a “Pleeeeeese” and I melt. It’s like an evil power, from outer space that can’t be stopped.
I have almost adjusted to all of this but then she started the other girl stuff, like talking at three-hundred miles an hour. When I got her to slow down so I could understand, her words were even more confusing. Apparently, her friend Katie was dating Rich, and there are problems.
Allow me to take a moment to explain dating in 2019. The two dating partners do not share any classes. So, they only see each other after school where the hug and smile at each other until a parent picks one of them up. Then at home, they each lock themselves into their rooms and they send texts for several hours. Confused? Well I certainly am. Even when I couldn’t talk to girls, I at least looked at them as I dated them. What can I say? Modern love? Sorry about the detour but. I felt you needed a reference to misunderstand the rest.
So, Katie and Rich are dating and my daughter has become some kind of international liaison between them. Now, they’re having trouble and both are crying to my girl, who simply suggests they talk to each other. The immediate reaction from both was, “That’s just crazy enough to work!” They did. Now, they are officially broken-up because during their walk Rich was flirting with Katie. Yes, you heard it right. I can understand her being upset with him flirting with someone else, but this seems ridiculous to me. I guess I’ve been married too long.
Now, this newly-arrived girl in my house feels it necessary to keep me informed about this situation. Therefore, she has to spend hours on the phone to find out what’s going on and who’s emotions are hanging out to dry. Remember Katie and Rich never spoke on the phone. They were dating so they only texted. They talk to my daughter because no one is dating her. You figure it out and let me know. On second thought don’t. I don’t want to know.
Then there’s the girl stuff. I almost asphyxiated myself, walking up the stairs toward her room, from the overpowering odor of fingernail polish. When I asked about it, I was informed, “I need seven coats dad.” What the heck does winter outer-wear have to do with acetone? It’s just more confusing girl-speak.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I like girls. Also, of course, I love my daughter. It’s just the combination of the two is very confusing. I called the doctor to see if anything could be done to stop the process. After ten minutes of laughter the doctor prescribed medical marijuana. For me not her. She’s still a girl but I don’t care. Yep, I really don’t care Duuuude.