Note: A preview from my upcoming autobiography, Life’s Too Short to Smoke Cheap Cigars (Or to Drink Cheap Whiskey.)
Daughters
I’m the father of four daughters.
A wise man once said that daughters are God’s way of punishing us for being men. That may well be the case; I look at what passes for teenage boys today with a mixture of incomprehension and puzzlement. Fortunately, my daughters are now all grown, with three of the four married or on the way to becoming so, so these days I’m thinking of these things in a happy past tense.
But back in the day, I only had two simple rules for any would-be suitors of my daughters:
- Our house has a front door, beside which is a doorbell. If you are taking my daughter anywhere, you will park your car, walk up to the door, ring the bell, and come in to talk to me before I do you the great personal favor of letting you take my baby girl anywhere. If you pull into my driveway and honk the horn, you’d better be delivering a pizza or something, because you’re sure as hell not picking anything up. You will be sent away to try again later.
- If you attempt to put your hands anywhere on my baby girl’s body, I will remove them, slowly and messily. This is not a threat, it is a promise, and I keep a large axe sharpened and handy for precisely this purpose.
Those two rules worked out rather well. It doesn’t hurt that I’m not a small man, and that twelve years in the Army taught me indelible lessons in intimidating young men.
Years ago, there was nevertheless a time when the shoe was on another foot.
Back Then…
Picture if you will a raffish young fellow. A tall lad, long hair well past his shoulders, mirrored sunglasses, blue jeans with the knees worn through, worn long enough that the excess drags on the ground behind steel-toed engineer boots. A Buck knife in a sheath on the belt, and a well-worn black pocket t-shirt complete the picture of a young man who would not look at all out of place waiting in line for tickets to a Kiss concert.
That was me at 17. The embodiment of every father’s nightmares, standing there in size 11 black engineer boots.
Unfortunately for my friends and me, we were teenagers in an era when the typical father of a teenage daughter was well up to the challenge we posed. Take Mr. Walters.
Rhonda Walters was from a family with money, and Mr. Walters expected more of his daughter than a liaison with a longhaired woods bum. Still, Rhonda seemed to find me interesting; I certainly found her interesting. (Of course, being 17 and male, it’s more than likely I’d find something interesting about almost any female between the ages of 16 and 50.) Rhonda was cute, pert, leggy, had dark hair, dark eyes, and a tendency to dress in tantalizingly short cut-offs and tight T-shirts. Rhonda also showed every indication of interest in certain longhaired, raffish woods bum types. Namely, me.
The fly in the ointment was this: To get to take Rhonda out on a date, I had to be introduced to and interviewed by Rhonda’s father.
Mr. Walters had the kind of urban sophistication that I was totally unprepared to deal with. He also had a short fuse, a voice that sounded much like breaking boulders in the deepest recesses of a cave and fists the size of babies. What’s more, he had a deep, profound and abiding distrust and dislike for certain longhaired, raffish woods bum types. Namely, me. And that was only the beginning.
How It Started
It all started one Friday afternoon, as I was leaning against my locker in the high school hallway, shooting the breeze with my hunting partner Dave.
“So, man, what’re we doing tonight?” Dave asked. “Want to go out to the river and catch some catfish? I’ve got a quart jar of chicken livers I’ve been leaving out in the sun all week.”
Tempting as that offer was, I had to demur. “Sorry, pal. Got a date.” I responded, with a knowing leer for emphasis. At that moment, Rhonda wiggled down the hallway, shooting me a big grin. “See you at seven!” She practically sang the words to me.
Dave gave me an incredulous look, once he tore his eyes away from the aft portion of Rhonda’s blue jeans. “Rhonda Walters? Oh, man, how did you ever get her to go out with you? She’s got class!”
The nerve! “You asshole! I’ve got class!”
“Slow class, maybe.” Dave said. “Low class, for sure! No way have you got enough class for Rhonda Walters. You taking her out in your car?”
“Figured on it.” I replied, uncertain now. I hadn’t thought of that one. My old Ford was somewhat on the shy side of respectable.
“Better try to borrow your old man’s pickup, bud. Rhonda’s used to nice stuff. That Galaxie of yours got rust holes you could drop a good-sized dog through, and you never did get the skunk smell outta the back seat. And you’d have to take all your fishing gear out of the back.”
Dave wasn’t a genius by any stretch, but he had me there. I suddenly remembered a can of catfish bait, my Grandpa’s own special recipe, which I had been fermenting on my dashboard for several days. And Dave wasn’t finished yet.
“Another thing, bud. You ever seen her Dad? Old man Walters’ got a lot of money, and he’s mean as the Devil hisself. He ain’t gonna like seeing someone like you showin’ up at the door.”
Crap. Dave was right. Much as I hated to admit it, Dave was right. My old Ford was out. On everything else, he had to be wrong. What father could resist someone of my wit and winning charm? I figured if I could solve the vehicle problem, I was in like Flint.
Funny how our illusions can be shattered so quickly.
Later that afternoon, at my folks’ place, my old ’66 Galaxie 500 “unexpectedly” suffered a breakdown – a breakdown facilitated by the simple expedient of yanking a couple of plug wires.
I burst into the house with the news. “DAD!” I shouted, trying to get a desperate edge in my voice. “The Galaxie is dead as a doornail, and I’ve got a date in two hours! You gotta let me use your truck!”
Dad’s pickup wasn’t the typical battered farm utility wagon common in Northeast Iowa in those days. A year earlier, Dad had found a newly rebuilt 1970 Chevy pickup, bright orange with a hand-made wooden bed, reworked ground-up by a particularly talented body shop. It was shiny, smooth, and clean, and Dad’s pride and joy. Dad reluctantly agreed. I imagine he was unwilling to stand in the way of true romance.
That’s how I came to be driving Dad’s bright orange pickup when I pulled into the Walters’ driveway that Friday evening. Visions of Rhonda in tight blue jeans assailed me; little did I know what was in store for me inside the front door of the expansive Walters residence.
And Then This Happened
A long driveway greeted me, followed by an equally long sidewalk leading to the massive, double door of white oak at the front of the Walters estate. A doorbell button loomed; this was surely the moment of truth.
I figured I was as ready as I’d ever be. I rang the bell. I wasn’t even remotely prepared for what happened next.
There were, in those days, certain conventions to be expected when a young man came calling on a family’s daughter. Those conventions involved the father meeting the young man at the door, upon which the intimidation and subtle threats began immediately. The Walters family broke with that tradition in a very significant manner.
Rhonda’s mother answered the door.
In that moment, I realized where Rhonda got her charm and good looks. Mrs. Walters was still on the sunny side of forty, tall, willowy, shining dark hair and a smile that doubtlessly brought many a man to his knees.
“Hello!” She breathed, beaming stunningly on me, bringing me metaphorically and immediately to my knees. “You must be here for our daughter! We’ve been expecting you. Come on in, Rhonda’s getting ready.”
At this tender age, I was still possessed of some instinctual knowledge that a teenage girl “getting ready” could take at least an Ice Age, I was prepared to wait; the late show of Animal House wasn’t for two hours yet anyway. I had planned for that, you see.
What happened next brought my euphoria crashing to earth. Mrs. Walters had ushered me through the living room, and her glowing smile turned on me again as she raised a perfectly groomed, graceful hand to indicate an open door. “If you want to wait in the study,” she purred, “You can chat with Rhonda’s Dad while you’re waiting.”
Well, I’d expected this, and had been through a few fairly uncomfortable interviews in living rooms, farm kitchens and barnyards before this. The normal process was a moment or two of more or less friendly intimidation, a required recitation of plans for the evening, of which we boys generally left out a few hoped-for details. I knew what to expect.
Or so I thought.
Mr. Walters was ensconced in his expansive study, behind a large oak desk. Reading glasses were perched on his nose; he was looking over some papers. Without looking up he motioned to a wooden chair drawn up to the desk. “Sit down.” He growled.
I sat uncomfortably for a few silent moments. Then Mr. Walters, finally, looked up at me.
It was amazing; at first, Mr. Walters had the usual expression, the usual frown of a loving father about to shrivel his daughter’s date. Then, as he took in my long hair, black t-shirt, the Buck knife at the belt of my badly worn jeans, his frown turned to a disgusted scowl. He dropped his reading glasses on the desk and leaned back in his chair.
“So,” he snarled at me, “You sure don’t look like much of a catch. Why in the world do you think you should be taking my daughter out?”
“Uh, well sir, I asked her, and she said yes?” I ventured.
Mr. Walters balled up a fist the size of a basketball and tapped it gently on the desktop. “She did, did she?” Suddenly he stood up and leaned over the desk.
“Listen, boy, you didn’t come to MY house to take my daughter out on a date. You came here to ask ME a great personal favor. That favor is taking my baby girl out in YOUR car, to God knows where, until God knows when, to do God knows what, and frankly you don’t look like someone I’d trust to find his way out of a shithouse. So, once again, why in the world do you think you should be taking my daughter out?” My pulse started to hammer in my temples.
“Sir,” I replied, having been taught from an earlier age how to address an older man not related to me, especially when asking a favor, “I may not look like much, but I’m a stand-up guy. I’ve got my Dad’s truck, and if I have it out late, he’ll kill me. I’m figuring I’ll take Rhonda to the Burger Five and to the movies, and we’ll be back by eleven-thirty, and you got my word on that.”
He regarded me with bloodshot eyes. My blood pressure was edging towards the redline.
“Eleven-thirty, eh?” He finally growled. “Well, boy, this is against my better judgment. You look pretty worthless, and I hear you spend most of your time bumming around in the woods with your delinquent buddies. The only reason I’m giving you a chance is because I know your Dad, and he’s as good a man as they come.”
Way to go, Dad! I was in!
The fist slammed down on the desk, rattling the windows and knocking several knick-knacks off the bookshelves behind me.
“But if you’re ONE MINUTE past eleven-thirty, or if I’ve got ONE REASON to think you’ve laid one finger on my girl, I’ll HAVE YOUR HIDE, boy, YOU UNDERSTAND THAT?”
“Uh, yes, sir…” I stammered.
He leaned closer, and snarled, “I mean it, boy, you better not be even a minute late, or so help me…”
At that moment Rhonda came in, a vision in a white silk blouse and tight black pants. “Oh, Daddy, are you giving him your mean act? Don’t worry about it, Daddy’s a big softie. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
I wasn’t convinced; if I’d been a fly, I would certainly have feared for my life. Mr. Walters continued to spike me into my chair with an angry glare.
“Well, go on. Eleven-thirty. Rhonda, eleven-thirty, not a minute later, you hear?” By this point, I had a fine sheen of sweat on my forehead, and at these words I bounded out of the chair. “Thanks, sir, we’ll be on time!” I assured Mr. Walters, with what I hoped was a calm, confident demeanor. Rhonda walked over to kiss her father on the cheek. I caught his sotto voce comment to her as she bent down:
“He’s worthless, Rhonda, I don’t know what you’re thinking.”
“Oh, Daddy, don’t worry.”
Mr. Walters wasn’t worried. I was worried. I was, in fact, feeling more like a fly every moment I spent in Mr. Walter’s presence.
We walked down the long front sidewalk, Rhonda happily describing something that had happened at school that afternoon; behind us, Rhonda’s Mom smiled and waved, and Mr. Walters glared, his eyes stabbing into my back like twin laser beams.
The rest of the evening went wonderfully. Dad’s pampered pickup purred like a kitten, and so did Rhonda; the local burger joint was up to standard, turning out piping-hot pizza burgers and fries; and we laughed all the way through Animal House. And, during the movie, Rhonda’s hand stole over and took hold of mine – and didn’t let go. Bliss! We even had time for half an hour of hanging out in the Safeway parking lot with the other kids. I even ended up leaning back against the bright orange side of the pickup, with Dave and the other guys glaring enviously at my arm draped comfortably around Rhonda’s shoulders as she leaned against me, laughing at all my horrible jokes.
There’s a moment in each teenage relationship where a line is crossed, a line between friends and boyfriend/girlfriend. Years later the two kids involved will still recall that moment, that first time that line is crossed; that happened on this night, right on Rhonda’s doorstep. Promptly at eleven-twenty-eight, I walked Rhonda up the long sidewalk to her parent’s house. She turned to me in the light from the bulb above the door.
“This was so much fun! I think we should do it again next week, don’t you?”
YOU BET! I thought in a loud internal shout, but instead suavely replied, “Yeah, I think we probably should.” I was slowly becoming aware of two glaring eyes peering through the front window curtains.
Rhonda leaned close, grabbing my shoulders and planting a warm kiss on my cheek. “I can’t wait. I’ll be looking forward to it all week.” The door suddenly popped open, and Mr. Walters stood imposingly framed in the light from the front room. He growled ominously, “Eleven-thirty.” Rhonda smiled sweetly at me as I stood, grinning like an ape, and then she turned and went inside. Her father shot me one last murderous look before he slammed the door.
As I walked away, one thought came to mind.
It was worth it.
Shoe on The Other Foot
Sadly, the relationship came to an end, as most teenage affairs do; in fact, the whole thing ended rather spectacularly, but that’s another story (and one I’ve already told here.) The lesson of Rhonda’s father wasn’t lost on me, though, and has served me well in later years, as the father of daughters of my own. In fact, it served me well the first time I faced a fidgeting, grungy young potential boyfriend in my own home.
I glared at the young man, as he stood there in his backwards-facing cap and baggy pants. Finally, after letting him stew a moment, I snarled at him:
“Listen, boy, you didn’t come to MY house to take my daughter out on a date. You came here to ask ME a great personal favor. That favor is taking my baby girl out in YOUR car, to God knows where, until God knows when, to do God knows what, and frankly you don’t look like someone I’d trust to find his way out of a shithouse. So, now, tell me why in the world you think you should be taking my daughter out?” I struggled to suppress a grin as the boy shriveled before my eyes.
Thanks, Mr. Walters. At long last, I owe you one.
Fortunately, my daughters are now all grown, with three of the four married or on the way to becoming so, so these days I’m thinking of these things in a happy past tense. – so you are saying one is available?
I’m not saying anything!
That’s a lot of text to say nothing.
I’m sure there’s something in there.
he’s not not saying anything
Mom’s dad had a 66 or 67 Galaxy: 390 with a Carter carb. Sweet ride.
I’m trying to imagine one with the a cast iron 428 and how nose heavy it must have been.
The 7-liter (428) wasn’t significantly heavier than the 390, but I can tell you from experience that the 66 Galaxie cornered like a bathtub.
Jay Leno resto-modded one with coils and an independent front suspension and (I think) a four link rear suspension.
But appearance wise it is stock. It’s got to be a hoot.
Another thing, bud – since I saw some letterkenny I think of that whenever I her bud.
But overall good story. I remember Bret Easton Ellis said he used to drive a cream colored Mercedes SL convertible as a teen. I think that would have been a better date car, but a pickup works I suppose.
In Allamakee County back in the day, that Mercedes would have gotten you marked as a soft, pink-handed city boy who didn’t know his ass from his elbow and who was just trying to act superior. The pickup would have carried higher status.
In Romania back in the day a Mercedes would have gotten you marked as Ceaușescu
Great story, Animal!
I married the youngest of four daughters, so my future FIL was well broken in by the time I showed up. With my luxurious blonde flow, earring and a 1965 LeMans. I actually don’t remember the first time I met him, but we always got along great. Literally the son he never had. I miss that guy every damn day.
With Spawn 2’s boyfriend I had every intention of being a hard-ass, but unfortunately I really like the kid. He’s respectful, funny, hard-working and comes from a good family. When he took her to Prom he showed up with flowers for my daughter and Mrs. Tundra. I was impressed.
Whatever. Show her respect and treat her well and no one has to get hurt, right?
When I laid down The Law on potential boyfriends, my last two lines were always:
“You hurt her, I hurt you. You make her cry – and I make you cry.”
Now, I have two sons-in-law and one soon to be, and I like all three of them a lot. They’re all good, solid, reliable guys. So I have little to complain about, at least until some vampire comes snooping around after the unattached daughter.
Look man my intentions are honorable. I’m only in it for the green card. No funny business. Separate bedrooms and all that.
I’m only in it for the green card
No dice, once you invite a Vampire In, you can’t get rid of them.
Well, you can, but the costs to fumigate are pretty high.
I thought you used a wooden stake, not fumigation.
Vampires never travel alone, they are always accompanied by creatures of the night.
After dealing with the vampire, you have to catch all the critters. Fumigation is just the most efficient method.
Vampires never travel alone, they are always accompanied by creatures of the night.
Hookers?
Only if you’re a Furry.
Are you a Furry, Ted?
Ted S Grammar Fury.
I see UCS has his snarking gloves on.
Garlic. Lots and lots of Italian cooking so that garlic permeates the air and your clothes. Also, sprinklers that have a holy water reservoir.
Shit yall I just realized my nana was a vampire hunter.
Protip: Keep plenty of mirrors around the house (bedroom ceilings optional).
A likely story. All you ever talk about is how many hundreds of leis you trade for whiskey!
lol
Pie! There’s your confirmation! Go!
I’m pricing plane tickets as we speak.
<3 <3 <3
that is a great picture of your misspent youth. but why is everyone pointing down?
i’ve been thinking about that first encounter with the enemy when my daughter comes of age. the script is to start off discussing their car to get on the subject of muffler technology and use that to springboard onto the efficacy of suppressors for firearms. but my daughter will likely bring home some flow-haired hockey idiot who won’t get the point. this isn’t an automatic disqualifier as long as he’s not suffering from some debilitating sense of entitlement.
We were re-enacting a scene from Fritz the Cat.
I also raised four daughters – and now that I’m on marriage numero dos, I’ve got another girl and boy coming up.
I don’t think the tough guy thing works, if it ever did. It didn’t impress me when I was a young man going to pick up dates. What went through my head was the 80’s equivalent of “OK, Boomer” which would have been the correct answer, generationally speaking.
I’ve tried to be polite to all of their prospective beaux, but I’ve also been clear about wanting to know where they’re going, with whom, and when they’ll be back. In my opinion, treating my daughters like I trusted their judgment begat better all-around decisions and relationships in the long run. (There is nothing that will drive a young girl into some douchebag’s arms more quickly than the fact that mom and dad think he’s ‘icky’ in some way or another. Icky from the prior generation always seems to generate ‘cred’ with the next one.
OTOH… someone once asked me about whether I was “worried about” one of my daughter’s boyfriends and my answer was, roughly:
“Me? Worried? No. I mean, just for example, “B” is never going to show up in the middle of the night standing over my bed watching me sleep with a knife in his hands… because I’d shoot him in the face. Whether HE should be worried that *I* might wind up standing over his bed at 3 am is a question that only his conscience and his God can help him answer. But I’m not worried one iota either way.”
The other thing that always helped is pointing out that the Marine Corps trained me to kill people I had nothing against personally. I was fully prepared to lay havoc against those I had never even met, probably even had a lot in common with, just for “the mission.” What might I be willing to do to someone who had been personally unkind to one of my beloved daughters?? But I don’t think that I ever had to point that out to any young man; they seemed to gather that all on their own. It also helped that all of the lovely daughters were pretty solid about not bringing home someone that dad would find repugnant.
The over the top tough guy thing is often a sign of an over protective, controlling father. Teens rebel, so an overly controlling father is often a sign of a good date. Or so I hear. My own experiences in this regard are clouded in the mists of time.
Nods slowly. ^^^^
I can neither confirm nor deny this information from my past experiences.
I also raised four daughters – and now that I’m on marriage numero dos, I’ve got another girl and boy coming up. – hmmm lemme do some math…
Okay I think that joke is played out
I think there is something to this. I have two older sisters and my parents tried hard to set rules with the oldest one, but she ended up being wild and rebellious. By the time I was old enough to start going out, they had been broken and set zero rules for me. I did not capitalize on this.
Oh, hell yes. I tell my younger siblings that I am the reason they had so much freedom. Someone has to blaze that trail.
Same here. My teenage years were night and day different from my younger siblings.
Uffda. This is all true.
My kid sister could just take the family car whenever she wanted and it happened to be around. When I was blazing the trail, getting access to those keys was a three day process of interviews and tests (including proving you had the financial wherewithal to replace gas into the tank of the car).
And great story, Animal. I enjoy your writing style and the tales of derring-do.
This is true, thanks Animal
Right now I like my Sil more than my Daughter, she’s being a real ass,
First time I met my future in-laws we went out to eat. At the end of dinner my father in law handed me some red man chew. Told him no thanks I don’t chew. He said “good a man who can think for himself”.
For some reason I always liked this exchange in The Important of being Earnest
JACK. Thank you, Lady Bracknell, I prefer standing.
LADY BRACKNELL. [Pencil and note-book in hand.] I feel bound to tell you that you are not down on my list of eligible young men, although I have the same list as the dear Duchess of Bolton has. We work together, in fact. However, I am quite ready to enter your name, should your answers be what a really affectionate mother requires. Do you smoke?
JACK. Well, yes, I must admit I smoke.
LADY BRACKNELL. I am glad to hear it. A man should always have an occupation of some kind. There are far too many idle men in London as it is. How old are you?
JACK. Twenty-nine.
LADY BRACKNELL. A very good age to be married at. I have always been of opinion that a man who desires to get married should know either everything or nothing. Which do you know?
JACK. [After some hesitation.] I know nothing, Lady Bracknell.
LADY BRACKNELL. I am pleased to hear it. I do not approve of anything that tampers with natural ignorance. Ignorance is like a delicate exotic fruit; touch it and the bloom is gone. The whole theory of modern education is radically unsound. Fortunately in England, at any rate, education produces no effect whatsoever. If it did, it would prove a serious danger to the upper classes, and probably lead to acts of violence in Grosvenor Square. What is your income?
this was not meant as a reply
The first time I met my in-laws is still a hotly debated story at my house. I met my wife in Memphis so the first time I met my in-laws was when I went to Korea to marry my wife. According to the (soon-to-be) wife, it was traditional for the groom to be to do the super bow to the father in law when they first met. Like hands and knees, head touching the floor bow.
Being an American (and a shitlord libertarian) bowing always makes me mad and I really didn’t want to have to grovel. My wife kept telling me that we had barely gotten her parents’ permission to start with and if I didn’t bow we’d lose it for sure. I finally grudgingly said I’d do the super bow.
Now we fly to Korea, take the train from Seoul to Daegu and ride out to my wife’s small village and get to the house late at night. We are both super jet lagged and my wife tells me she’ll give me the high sign when it is time for me to bow.
We go into the first room of the house and my wife -and this is the part that is hotly contested – gives me a nod and I drop down and do the super bow to her dad. Laughter erupts from everywhere. Her family and a shit ton of relatives who have come to meet us are in tears because I bowed in the entryway. I’m still not sure why that room was so wrong to bow in, but I guess it was. I was supposed to have gone into an adjoining room where I’d be formally introduced to Father-in-law and do my bow there.
My wife a) denies she gave me the high sign and b) thinks that any sentient being would know that bowing in the first room was just dumb.
On the plus side, it set the bar with my in-laws that I’m not that bright and can’t be trusted to figure out the basics of social interactions so I still get away with murder.
That’s great!
I actually prefer bowing to shaking hands. As a gaijin I can get away with only doing a modest bow so I don’t mind. Of course the issue is now my head bobs anytime I say certain phrases same as a native. Every time it happens I laugh.
Sadly, the relationship came to an end, as most teenage affairs do; in fact, the whole thing ended rather spectacularly, but that’s another story (and one I’ve already told here.)
You’re going to make us sift through the site to find out if you had sex or not?
I expect you to spend as much time trying to figure out the answer to that as I spent trying to establish the answer to that.
You have far more investment in the circumstance than we do.
Hmm, about 5 minutes?
Anyway, I am sorry for the sad ending.
I’m not. When I married Mrs. Animal I traded up from every girl I ever associated with before her.
Most of the girls I dated in high school had absentee fathers. Honestly, I bet over 80% of the people in my graduating class came from 1 parent households. The few fathers I met weren’t good for shit and never bothered to find out where their daughters were going or who they were going with.
I wonder how you became such a good dad. Other dudes in your life?
Being a good father and husband is what it looks like when I rebel. Also, yes, I had a number of very positive surrogate father-figures in my teenage life.
I, too, was impressed with your dad skills at the Honey Harvest.
My dad left when I was 8. I vowed to do better than him – and, so far, I think I have.
I let the kids out of their Skinner box for 12 hours each week, and they always are on their best behavior.
each week
Look at the kid spoiler!
Mr. Mojeaux does not want to know about boys who want to date our daughter. I handle that. However, her first boyfriend experience was emotionally traumatic, so she is not in any hurry to get a boyfriend. I let her out on a very loose leash, knowing she would likely come to some emotional harm, but not devastatingly so. It happened the way I thought it would and I got the result I wanted.
I’ve done this with her before. She wanted her ears pierced at 11. No problem. I also gave her a very long list of her responsibilities in keeping her ears pierced, clean, and without infection. She got tired of that before the initial 6 weeks was up.
She wanted makeup. Fine. I took her to the Macy’s cosmetics counter and had the lady walk her through all the steps to prep her face, paint it, clean it off before she went to bed. I told her she would be expected to follow this regimen religiously if she were going to wear makeup. No dice.
My method is to give her what she wants but make it so onerous to have it that it’s not worth her time or trouble.
I also will give her all the freedom she wants. The catch: She has to ride her bike to go anywhere, which she will not do.
A crafty child would save up for a conversion kit to make their bike an electric bike.
Well… my Dad philosophy is, keep friends close and your daughter’s boyfriends closer.
Decorah, IA is an absolutely beautiful area. Nice story.
This thread is Hihntastic.
I see he’s changed his handle.
kept the Cato survey though
What if that survey was correct and a good deal of that 60% does hold libertarian views on the world, but sees no party that represents those views or became acquainted with the libertarian party and quickly realized that “liberty” was not important to their message?
I cannot speak of the US, but I doubt it. No way in hell half that % in Europe hold vaguely libertarian views
I could see that. Probably true for the US, too. I just thought maybe that study wasn’t completely bogus, but it makes more sense that it is.
RE: Violence in the streets. That’s certainly how his opponents have deemed his words, but a fair reading of his words would not say that.
RE: Warns or Calls for. Those are two very different things. A lot of people can warn of something without wanting it.
RE: Closing news outlets. Anyone who thought that was a possibility is a fool
most reasonable people believe that the answers will not be found in Trump, the least intellectual president of modern times.
I don’t want fucking intellectuals trying to fix our problems. FUCK OFF. I thought Reason at least appealed to a Libertarian readership. This fuck has no clue about basic libertarian concepts.
The amazing thing about that article is that in two years Welch will be calling people “white supremacists” if they mock or reject the premise for those new rights. Especially if those new rights are framed as part of some larger struggle to correct some historical injustice. For instance, “housing is a right to rectify the discriminatory practice of housing as applied to LGBT folks in the past” or “health care is a right to rectify the historical disparate treatment of women in the health care sector”. They will quibble over the use of the term “right”, but they will attack any opponents who mock the proposals and assure white liberals that they might not agree with their policy, but they absolutely agree with their moral superiority on the topic. It’s the Gay Jay Method. If conservatism is progressivism driving the speed limit, Beltway Libertarians are going fifteen miles over the speed limit.
Beltway Libertarians are Social liberals who pay lip-service to fiscal conservatisim, especially when they get to criticize tax cuts.
They’re culture warriors, but desperately want to pretend as if they are not.
Good Lord, some warning before linking to the depths of that swamp!
As long as were visiting TOS. Robby gets all excited by conservatives being silenced. Good job protecting your patron’s right flank, Robby.
Hmmm… I thought those guys had reasoned debates over there?
YAF has nothing to do with libertarianism.
Yeah, that’s Buckley’s group. YAL is the Ron Paul group and SFL is the Koch front. YAL is the only good one. SFL is pretty much utterly worthless. The Kochs are not funding our best, that’s for damn sure
Splitters?
You joke, but I think the fact that the Ron Paul campaign had to build its own college based youth organization when Students for Liberty was already around speaks for itself
Does Reason have any thing to do with libertarianism? Other than being the example people might use when explaining why the whole idea is stupid?
That guy is a symptom of the disease that drove me from that site.
I was part of a successful website (traffic-wise we did big numbers) with a libertarian-ish slant, but even we had to moderate comments. The real trick is finding mods who really appreciate trying to take a pro-1A, hands-off approach on comments – i.e. not removing comments for simply the fact that you don’t like them, but for some articulable reasons, one of them being that you can’t give the heckler’s veto to asshats who add nothing qualitatively to the conversation. Notice I chose the word qualitatively, and not, for example, substantively. You can still add to the flavor of the site – qualitatively – by, for example, simply posting Chive archives of FLBP. And, of course, Q adds a lot more than that.
Anyway, we finally settled on a requirement of providing enough personal info in the sign up that we could ID you as a real person. Exceptions might be made on a case-by-case, but the only way we found to filter out trolls and other shitposters was with some info that would allow us to “ID” the person in meatspace. (The anonymity of the web really did show us a side of people no one probably had anticipated.) It’s not a great fix, and we flirted with the idea of having some nominal charge, not for the revenue so much as to provide both “ID” and a “buy-in” – even if it was going to be a largely symbolic amount, like $.99/year.
Just seeing someone light the Hihn Signal made me think of that.
Our stories are exactly alike except for all the ways that are different.
Great article, Animal. I enjoyed reading it.
My wife and I started dating at 21. She made it clear back then that we’re partners and her father has no role whatsoever in our relationship, though we are both on good terms with him.
My daughter is only 4, so this fortunately still a ways off for me. I like to think that when the dating time comes, I’ll be able to trust her judgement, yet always still be there to help if needed. She’s pretty tough even while so young. A neighbor boy, a bit older and probably a foot taller, pretended to shoot her with a toy gun, so she responded by knocking it down and punching him in the face. I hope she keeps that spirit.
She’s also bracketed by two brothers who are both massively oversized for their ages and care very much for her.
Until you see the mug shots when she’s arrested on assault charges.
When a teenage girl breaks a similarly aged boy’s nose, isn’t it assumed that the boy was getting handsy and it was not wanted?
Yeah, I’m not really following you on this one Ted.
Kids rough house. They wrestle, fight, and do things adults typically don’t. I think the zero-tolerance on rough-housing in schools is having a detrimental impact on boys.
If she were an adult, well, I doubt there would be any charges leveled against her for responding with force against someone threatening her with a realistic looking gun, knife, tire iron, etc.
Emphatically agree.
better to be judged by 12..
lol. another company’s about to learn that no amount of prostration at the feet of your critics will change their hearts.
Chick-fil-A said Monday that it has stopped donations to several Christian organizations after receiving backlash from LGBT rights activists over the last several weeks.
The U.S. fast food chain said that as it expands, it will no longer donate to the Salvation Army, the Paul Anderson Youth Home, and the Fellowship of Christian Athletes, which opposes same-sex marriage. The company’s charity, the Chick-fil-A Foundation, has donated millions of dollars to the two organizations.
https://www.nationalreview.com/news/chick-fil-a-to-end-donations-to-christian-charities-after-lgbt-backlash/?utm_source=email&utm_medium=breaking&utm_campaign=newstrack&utm_term=18645492
“When there is a tension, we want to make sure we’re being clear. We think this is going to be helpful,” Tassopoulos said of the company’s decision to pull its support from the charities. “It’s just the right thing to do: to be clear, caring, and supportive and do it in the community.”
What’s so amazing is that this is an obvious attempt to assuage white liberals. Imagine boycotting the Salvation Army and believing that you’re a good person. You, having fed zero poor people and clothed exactly zero homeless people, are suppose to be the righteous person because you won’t support a charity that has wrong thought.
In less than a year, people will begin being shamed for donating to their local church’s soup kitchen
Well i mean if your local church happens to be in an area that is mostly white, it seems like by donating to your local church, you are just trying to keep money from helping minorities.
There is no whiter church than the Church of Wokism
*looks around*
What about the Mormons?
Thanks to that whole “extermination campaign” against Mormonism in the US and the Church’s brief detour to Mexico, there are quite a few Mormons down there, at least from my experience. I use to know a girl who was from one of the southern states in Mexico and one of her close friends was Mormon. So I imagine that if it migrated all the way down south there has got to be a few of them.
The homeless activists here aren’t upset that the shelter is run by a Christian rescue mission, has rules, and says prayers. They want a government ran one that doesn’t have rules.
How long before stores start announcing they’ll no long allow the Salvation Army bell ringers on their property?
That’s already begun. Belk and Target, I believe banned them a little while ago for the crime of “wrong thought”.
What’s so amazing about the Faith of Wokeness is how backward their worldview is. Thoughts are more important than actions to them, which really explains why it’s become the preeminent religion among the rich.
Upon further research, it looks like Belk reversed its position. Target banned them under their general “no solicitation” policy
general “no solicitation” policy-
Good policy. I don’t want to be accosted by random beggars while shopping.
I find the bell ringing annoying as fuck, but ending it over their lack of wokeness pisses me off.
That is originally why Belk tried to ban Salvation Army people, but apparently there was costumer backlash and they reversed themselves.
Just recently a singer said she would not perform the Thanksgiving Half Time show, because the NFL had partnered with the Salvation Army. Apparently, in more recent news she backed down after her manager probably told her “literally no one cares if you play the halftime show or not”.
https://www.lgbtqnation.com/2019/11/singer-ellie-goulding-threatens-quit-nfl-halftime-show-supports-salvation-army/
I’m looking forward to the bee article “Chick-fil-A stops practice of saying ‘My pleasure’ after weeks of pressure from anhedonic groups who say that pleasure is not inclusive”
That’s bound to piss off a lot more people than sticking to their guns would have.
^
As a hardline Christian they won’t be getting my business any time soon. Just for caving.
This is actually the 3rd time they Chic-fil-a has done so.
Leftists will then find some new charity that doesn’t fulfill all their requirements and say that charity is bigoted. Rinse. Repeat.
This is a Christian restaurant that caters to suburban families. They will always hate it.
Leftists will then find some new charity that doesn’t fulfill all their requirements and say that charity is bigoted. Rinse. Repeat.,
Meh at the rate the Left is going, soon enough just donating to charity rather than sending the money to the US treasury will be enough to get you unpersoned.
If the current fire of radical leftism burns that long. I think the globalists pushed too hard, too soon, when hijacking the Democratic party after Trump’s election. The pendulum is definitely swinging the other way.
Trump will be re-elected, and likely assassinated. Then back to business as usual, you know, “progress”.
That’s my theory, anyhow.
“Individual charity is black hole”
– LP nominee 2028
Seeing as the LP nominee might be AOC in 2028, this checks out.
Liberals are good at infiltration and subversion. Look at modern “academia” and the intelligence community.
Only if the money is sent because it’s required by law, not voluntary.
with the vegan militant trajectory of the left, i don’t see how this move is making them customers.
I have no dad interview stories.
By the time I ever did meet a father, I held a steady, professional job for 2 years and the daughter was almost 21. He did take a near instant liking to me.
Yes I’m boring.
I went camping/hiking in Allamakee and Clayton county late last month. We timed things just right to enjoy the excellent fall colors there.
I think that area is gonna become our traditional fall weekend camping getaway from here on out.
There are some beautiful hiking/camping areas in the Yellow River State Forest. Or at least there were, 40-some years ago.
Didn’t really see much of Yellow River as we only camped there one night, but what we saw of it puts it high on our must properly explore list.
Its not the sort of place a person expects geologically when they think Iowa.
I often go out to eat and see men sat with their wife and 3+ daughters. I think to myself every time: “Poor bastard tried three, four times and gave up.”
My grandfather tried 6 times. Nope.
My aunt had 4 boys. She has to borrow my daughter when she wants one.
My mom had 4 boys and when finally a granddaughter came along you’d think she’d just won the lottery.
My Grandpa (Mom’s side) had three girls. Each one of his daughters produced nothing but male spawn. He died a very happy man.
The guys in my squadron used to say stuff like, “Oh, still gonna try to put the stem on the apple?!” chuckle, chuckle
My response has always been some variation of the following.
That’s short-term thinking, right there. Some day, sooner than you think, you’re going to be old. And when the time comes to put you in a home, let me paint a picture for you. Imagine you have a family of three girls and one boy. Here’s how the conversations go – Your daughters will be discussing whose turn it is to go visit dad on which weekend, and who’s going to feed you your green jello, and make sure you’ve got everything you need. There may be some debate over which weekends and what times and the details.
Your son will say: “Has anyone seen dad’s will? Do you know if I get the truck or not?” Or some variation on that theme.
Do not kid yourself. Your daughters, if well-raised, will be there by your side at death. There’s a very good chance you and your son will not be on speaking terms, despite your best efforts. That’s not uniformly true, but I’m quite glad of the daughters. If I had a boy like I was, I might have beat him. I would certainly have wanted to. “Younger me” causes me to say prayers of thanks for my parents.
My father (the former Marine) had two sisters and one brother. My father was the one to look after his mother during the final few years in a home.
However you want to rationalize it. I am man who loves my parents, and my brother does too.
I also have strict orders from my father: “If I ever get so bad you think I need to be put in a home, shoot me.”
My dad was the one that took care of my grandmother for the last 25 years of her life, not one of his three sisters. Every family is different.
Women have a saying: A daughter is a daughter all of your life; a son is a son until he takes a wife.
My father was very devoted to his mother. This caused problems when my gma and my dad treated my mother like the other woman in my gma’s life.
I’d be damned if I married a man that devoted to his mother. It doesn’t say jack shit about how he’ll treat his wife and kids.
When I met my future father-in-law, I was in the Marines and just got home from the Gulf War. He was in the Corps at the end of WWII. He showed me his captured Japanese Arisaka rifle – a move which apparently had intimidated early young men his 3 daughters had dated. Apparently I was the first to get excited at the cool rifle and start field-stripping it. That’s when the old guy knew I was okay. He passed away less than a year later. The rifle (and his WWII Victory Medal) up in my closet now – with a new firing pin and 6.5 ammo I had to buy online. It will be his grandson’s when he has a place for it.
Crysanthemum intact or scrubbed?
Same thought…
Intact!
There is a big gouge down one side of the wood of the fore-end – may have been made by the bullet that did in the original owner.
Damn. That’s crazy cool, Drake.
Is the chrysanthemum still intact?
All the ones I’ve seen have been, but I’d read that soldiers used to scratch them off if they expected them to be captured.
I’ve head the same – surrendered guns vs. those picked up off a battlefield.
I had a similar scene in high school. Her father was rather pointedly cleaning a shotgun when I rolled in. With a cluelessness that I have cultivated to this day, I asked him what kind it was, and what he was hunting with it.
If memory serves (and this goes back), he was a quail hunter. We had a chat about quail hunting (I knew just enough not to look too much the fool), and off his daughter and I went. Praise Allah that he never actually found out what went on during our date.
Three daughters and this guy ended up with the rifle. Nice work Drake!
And the first thing comes to my mind with Drake dating his daughter, “This is my rifle this is my gun…”
It used to be that the girls’ mothers liked me but the fathers, to a man, seemed to despise me. Did others have a similar experience?
Most parents liked me, at least once they had a chance to talk to me. Appearance wise, I was probably what they dreaded.
i’m sure they didn’t despise you, Homple, as far as you know.
Animal, these are just wonderful. Great fun. One thought, though:
Mr. Walters wasn’t worried.
Yeah, pretty sure he was.
Pretty sure I’ve seen this documentary on pornhub…
I was always very civil with my daughter’s boyfriend. She later told me that they were always afraid of me. I guess staring silently can be intimidating as well.
Yeah the more intimidating fathers were the ones who would be quiet, ask where we were going, and when we would be back. The ones who asked a lot about my background and whatnot were strange. Dude i just want to go bowling, not marry your daughter (this was in highschool) I don’t think i met many of the girls fathers i dated in college.
I showed up to meet my wife’s parents for the first time wearing bright red running shorts, a “Nuke a godless, communist, gay baby seal for Christ” t-shirt, an honest mullet, and moccasins. Oh, and I was driving a bright orange Ford Pinto (famous for exploding when crashed into from behind) station wagon.
I can’t imagine the disappointment they struggled to hide.
Twenty-four years later, I may have finally won them over.
Joseph Stalin Warns Dems May Be Going Too Far Left
“The Dems are kinda scaring me with all this far-left stuff,” Stalin said during a brief visit from his father’s house below. “Yes, I was one of history’s most deranged mass murderers, killing, like, 20 million people, but even I knew a boy is a boy and a girl is a girl. And we didn’t have any of this weird transgender athlete stuff—we just used steroids to stifle the competition and fired AK-47s at athletes’ feet until they ran faster.”
“Honestly, I’m a little worried,” Stalin said, distancing himself from the leftist wing of the Democratic Party. “If they keep this up, they’ll kill even more people than I did.”
“If they keep this up, they’ll kill even more people than I did.”
It’s just a Statisitic isn’t that right Joe?
I once worked as a community organizer (You: No way. You are so Yokel I imagine you only have about five teeth) and at a staff meeting one of the organizers was complaining about how “conservative” the NYT was (this was circa 2003 or so), because they supported the Iraq War (I didn’t have the heart to tell the guy that he’d be hard pressed to find a single war that the NYT ever originally opposed at inception). I told him “We all know that you are just left of Joseph Stalin, but that does not make everyone to the Right of you a ‘conservative'”. Everyone got a good hearty laugh out of that. And that was the last time I saw progressives laugh.
I once worked as a community organizer
TGA is Barak Obama. Confirmed!
Great story, Animal.
I cried a million tears over my daughter’s boy friend (and ex-husband) choices.
I am, however, getting ready to go deer hunting with grand daughter #3. Hope she sees some.
Back later
Awesome! If not, she’ll always have the memories of hunting with granddad.
I used to be with it. Then they changed what it was, and now whatever it is strange, and frightening to me…
…and it’ll happen to you!
I got the dad treatment twice. First time was my sophomore year in high school. Her dad was a retired cop and veteran of the Burma Campaign in WW2. He didn’t exactly take a shine to me. At the time, I rationalized that it was because I:
a) Was Southern Baptist (they were Catholic)
b) Was an uber-geek — Chess Club, Latin Club, Debate Team, with thick glasses to boot, and
c) Lived in a better neighborhood then they did.
Of course, the real reason he didn’t like me was because, in spite of the Solid Citizen veneer I had, I was still a teenage boy and therefore my main interest was to go spelunking in his little girl. I think he was secretly happy when she dumped me for the line cook at the local country club.
Second go-round was different. I had grown my hair down to my collar, wore flannels, jeans, and cowboy boots nearly every day, and generally looked like your average redneck, chubby edition. But this girlfriend’s dad saw through the bumpkin veneer and realized that I was a pretty decent guy with a pretty decent head on his shoulders. He welcomed me into the family, and he’s been my father-in-law for more than twenty-five years now.
I liked this. Thanks Animal!