The rule in our house is you can’t have a boyfriend until you’re 16 years old.
It worked wonderfully for, oh, about 16 years, until my oldest daughter finally crossed that threshold. In fact, she tricked us into thinking it wouldn’t be an issue by spending the first seven months of her 16th year without one.
Then we heard about this boy, who was a new friend of hers. And those two words, boy and friend, kept getting closer and closer together.
All I felt was my daughter and me getting farther and farther apart.
This is the little girl who’d once picked out a T-shirt for me that read, “Guns don’t kill people. Dads with pretty daughters do.”
She knew whenever she needed something, she could count on me to take care of her. That meant playing driver to dance classes and doctor’s appointments, fixing the electronics in her life or just reaching things on the top shelf that our “T-Rex” couldn’t quite grab with her diminutive body and short arms.
Now this boy from a neighboring school district, whom she met at her part-time job, was bringing all the smiles to her face.
I’m quickly learning that dads don’t necessarily hate their daughters’ boyfriends. They’re just protective of their children’s emotions. For so long, I was the only man she needed in her life. Now I felt unnecessary and replaceable.
It got worse once we really got to know the boy. It turns out he’s really nice and polite. He’s healthy and smart too. I’d really hoped he’d be a hoodlum and a little easier to hate. So far, the only crack I’ve found is he wore a Packers’ T-shirt into a Bears’ house, which has me questioning his common sense a bit.
But ultimately, she’s happy. She smiles more. She laughs more. She takes better care of herself. She completes her homework promptly. Her grades are solid. I don’t have to yell at her to make any of this happen anymore.
If this guy can bring a positive influence into her life, maybe I shouldn’t be so threatened that I’m being replaced.
Then a few days ago, my phone rang while my oldest drove home from school. Her car stalled out, and she pulled over to the side of the road. Her first call was to me.
I calmed her down and walked her though putting the car back into park. Then we talked through restarting the car, which revved right back to life. She thanked me and continued home from this odd problem.
And on my side of the phone, I smiled a little bit. She called me, not him. Maybe my daughter still needs me after all. Maybe she always will.
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