If you’re looking for the pictures of Leo Laporte’s hair, scroll to yesterday’s post. When it gets archived I’ll provide a static link because, well, we all love Leo’s hair.
My oldest daughter is six (and 11/12, she would like me to tell you). She’s a pretty girl, and getting prettier every day (her Mom’s fault, alas . . . I am not genetically related, though I’ve had severe psychological effects as a step-dad). Deep down, I know it’s inevitable that boys will start calling. I dread that day. Though I plan to make their lives a living hell, as is my parental duty.
At this point, she should be thinking boys are gross and disgusting creatures that carry germs and may be only a few evolutionary steps above cockroaches. And, for the most part, she does. She freaks any time her mother and I hold hands, much less kiss.
But, times they are a-changin’. This year she has discovered the recess pastime of chasing boys. According to her, there is a pecking order that must be met. Thomas is chased first, then Jordan, then Ellis and so on. What does she do when she catches the boys? Gives them to Claire, because “She knows what to do with them.” Thank god it’s someone else’s kid that knows what to do with the boys.
But, much to my dismay, the fascination with the elusive creature known as “boy” has begun. And the boys are noticing her. Naturally, this is pre-adolescent mimicry, but still . . . it’s heart-wrenching to know that this little girl is growing up and that, at some point, she’s going to start dating.
I’ve told her she can start dating when we make the first trip to Mars.
Recently, she came home from school with two notes from boys. Here they are:
Hmm . . . Boy number one is clearly a stalker in the making. “I think of you sometimes” is something akin to “play Misty for me.” It’s not comforting. I imagine that as soon as he’s allowed to cross the street he’ll be standing outside my door at odd hours. The little bastard.
Boy number two is clearly not ready to commit. He’s taken the time to write, but didn’t want to give too much away all at once. I think he’s playing hard to get. Or, perhaps he’s trying to set the record straight. I have to admit, I respect him. At least he doesn’t want to lead her on, make her think they’ll share pudding cups at lunch. Let’s be realistic. He’s six and has to keep his options open. Everything changes in second grade.
Either way, I think this proves that romance is not dead amongst the youngsters. Granted, these aren’t the most expressive love notes I’ve ever seen, in fact the first is downright disturbing, but I think these boys should be given credit for taking the time to write. In this technological age they would normally just send Instant Messages. Not that my daughter has access to the Internet yet. Still, most of these kids do their homework on a PDA, so I’m sure they all have their own email accounts, WebPages and message boards.
The bottom line is these boys are supposed to be out playing war or Pokemon or something. Not writing love notes to my daughter. And, when she is old enough for love notes, I will be correcting them and sending them back for revision. I won’t stand for a semi-illiterate moron dating my little girl.
In fact, I have a few criteria for her future beaus:
1. Must be a physicist, astronaut or guitarist for Power Pop trio. Will not accept psychologist, race car driver or Senator.
2. He must not drive a sports car, SUV, motorcycle or any other flashy, gas-guzzling machine. Acceptable means of transportation are: Segway, hybrid car, hover car (I figure this is at least a decade and a half off).
3. He may not be named Trey, Clay, Brandon, Cliff, Geoff (Jeff is okay), Sterling or Chad.
4. Must be able to discern between David Lynch, Ray Lynch and Lynchmob.
5. Must have thorough understanding of the works of Kurt Vonnegut, James Steinbeck and William Carlos Williams.
But, most of all he better be able to run fast, because inevitably he’ll make her cry. And woe is the boy who makes my little angel cry.
Note to self: Check out legality of tarring and feathering . . .
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