Dating My Daughter

I remember my first date.

I showed up at her front door after having taken three showers and having changed my clothes about ten times before settling on the proper look. I knocked authoritatively, clearing my throat so that my voice wouldn't squeak.

Her father answered the door. "Hi," I said. "Oh," he replied. "Just a minute." Then he closed the door. Okay, I thought, that's cool. They meant to clean up the house, but hadn't had the time. I could understand that.

Her father reopened the door. "Here," he said, handing me some money. "Keep the change. But try to get the paper on the porch, will you?" I nodded, not quite knowing what else to do.

He shut the door.

I stood there holding the money in my hand. It was tempting. I went up to the neighborhood 7-11 and called my date and explained what had happened. She told me to come back. Luckily, she answered the door this time.

I plan on doing the same thing to the young men my daughter will eventually date. When she's old enough to date, of course. She's fourteen. Which is to say another twenty years or so.