Whatever You Do to Her…

Is this clever, or just awkward and embarassing to all things young and innocent.

Is this clever, or just awkward and embarassing to all things young and innocent.

This went viral.

First I thought that it was a side by side comparison between the world’s most starched, up tite prom date, and an almost surreally boring same sex wedding announcement.

It’s neither.

Before a date, Dad (George Costanza minus glasses, plus beard) ominously told his daughter’s boyfriend, “Anything that you do to her, I’ll do to you.”

Then he took the threat and put it into a postcard format and shared it online. Because that’s what people do.
And it went viral. Because that’s the kind of shit that goes viral.

People are making a stink, and I get it. If you are one of those people who scrolls angrily down your facebook feed, looking for something to frown about, this is a good choice. The veiled threat of man-rape has never been funny. How old is the kid? Looks like he’s still in his teens. Man – boy rape is even less funny.

What if the young couple simply holds hands  in the Mall? What if they share a milkshake at TGI Friday’s and then go see a documentary about bear cubs or sea turtles or something? Where does dad draw the line?

Does he want a good night kiss? Is he trying to give a consensual hand job in a Zaxbys parking lot? At best, it’s confusing. At worst, it’s a troubling, rapish, thirsty and gross. Get your own fella Dad! And please make sure he’s over 18!

This is the point where I should be talking about a young woman’s agency, and how she has the right to safely explore her sexuality. I got this out of “Liberal Parenting 101: How to Pretend like Things Don’t Bother You, when they Really Do”

Yeah. I want my kids to have a wonderful sex life. As long as they are safe, responsible and emotionally mature, go forth, break beds and tear down chandeliers. But don’t tell me about it. And when I come to visit, fix that shit back the way it was.

We can make a deal. I won’t tell you about the time me and your Mom broke a wall and kicked the air conditioner out of the window, and you don’t tell me how you and Trevor experiment with gender roles.

(Trevor is made up. To my knowledge, my daughters don’t date. And my wife and I neither broke a wall, nor kicked the air conditioner out of the window. That would be dangerous.)

I don’t want to know. I’m not that parent. You’re not going to call me talking about how you strained your back, so he must be the one. Bad things will follow that conversation.


My prenting style

I once kicked a car that was getting too close to my pregnant wife. I threatened to throw hot grits on a kid who had hit my daughter on the back of her head with a can of hair spray. Liberal is my political stance. At home, I’m James Evans all the way.

And I’m not going to trust every boy that comes to my house. Not only are they bound to bring home some stinkers, but I’ve seen enough Lifetime movies to know that the good ones can be worst than the bad ones.

I’ll put it like this, future guys that my daughters might date. I won’t like you. And if I do like you, I’ll really dislike you.

And we won’t go viral together because we won’t be taking any photos where I hug you gently from behind. You’ll be lucky if I even acknowledge your measly existence.

But if you listen closely, you’ll hear a pot of hot grits bubbling in the kitchen… Just kidding. Being burned by a sticky, boiling breakfast porridge is torturous.

But I will fuck you up.