I can see that it’s like he’s almost constantly being jabbed with a pin, in the side. Sometimes, he even winces, from some ghostly little ping or pang as if someone is stepping on his toes. This is my husband in reaction to my child. He acts that way every time HIS name is mentioned or she brushes by him without her usual acknowledgement of “Hi Pats” (my daughters nickname for my husband, whom she used to call ‘Pattums’, until it was shortened to ‘Pats’).
Our 13 year old daughter has a boyfriend. Or should I say she is ‘going out’ with someone. Wait…I’m told they are JUST friends (Jeez, Mom!)
Going where you ask? Well absolutely nowhere alone, of course. He lives 7 miles away. All highway. Thank you sweet baby Jesus. They are only 13 years old. But that doesn’t seem to be any consolation.
Let’s call him Rocco. After all, he is Italian, and has a very Italian sounding name. Which I think in some way adds to my husband’s discomfort, as he and Rocco have that in common. And I shouldn’t say that they go nowhere. They attend the same school. They attend school sporting events together. They roller skate on Friday nights. I usually give him a ride home from roller skating. Rocco is very polite. He actually opens the passenger side door to thank me after getting out of the back seat. Which my husband calls being ‘a kiss ass ’. I think it’s sweet. My husband insists that it is a tell tale sign that Rocco is a punk and that I must be going soft. I think Rocco breathing translates to my husband that Rocco is a punk. I am not sure anything would make him happy.
When I was pregnant with Lily, I went for my ultrasound alone to find out if she was a girl or a boy. My then, overly masculine husband, waited at home. What was the big deal? We had already had a son. Which I was extremely grateful for as it took the pressure off. It's not like I was producing an heir to a thrown or something. But my husband wanted a boy first. In fact, he wanted a boy second, too. I was embarrassed and slightly wounded by the emphasis on the boy thing. After all, what the hell was the matter with us chicks, anyway?
My husband claimed he was too rough around the edges for a girl. He thought he would flounder as the parent of a girl and that she would turn into some masculine, I am going to take you down, truck-driver-mouth wench with an overly hairy upper lip. And perhaps an overly hairy upper back as well. (My husband is a very hairy, half Italian, half Armenian wonder of a specimen). We had already agreed that some sort of electrolysis or hair removal would be on the docket for her sixteenth birthday, if we ever had a girl.
Well, she was a she. I was elated. And as I pulled into the driveway he was standing in front of the garage. We made eye contact and I saw him exhale. Deeply. He new just by looking at what I thought was my expressionless face.
“You’ll be fine!” I said comforting him as he bent (way down) to hug me. I felt him collapse a little onto my shoulder. “Really babe, we should just be focusing on her health, don’t worry about it. You will be a great Dad to her.” He smiled and I could tell he was in the process of adjusting his thinking. Sink or swim. Ah, the joys of my ever evolving husband.
Today, to say “two peas in a pod” is an understatement. She and he are each others best buddy. There were times when I would sneak upstairs just to listen to them playing together when she was little. One day, I opened the door to put away laundry, and there he was, sitting on her bed, my 6’3” burly, mountain man husband, looking sheepish in a pink feathered boa with a jewel encrusted tiara on his head. She was standing in front of him trying to attach the second of two plastic, clip-on earrings, with purple bejeweled dangles. Something you don’t easily forget. It certainly made me fall in love with him all over again.
She was interested in all the same things he was. Fishing, hunting, trapping, sports. In fact, at the age of 4, she used to hang out with him in the garage as he skinned critters (according to him, an art form) to get the pelts ready for sale. My daughter loved it. They hung out and had conversation at times that almost made me jealous. Almost.
But now, it’s complicated. She picks up on the fact that he is leery of anyone who pays her any attention in the romantic department. The other day, at her basketball game, a mutual friend of both Lily and Rocco’s, Andrew, came up to me and my husband in the stands a few minutes before half time. Rocco was sitting at the other end of the bleachers with his friends.
“Hi Mrs. S, can you give Rocco a ride home today after the game.” (For some strange reason, he new best not to address this question to Mr. S)
My husband and I exchanged glances as if we both just tasted something awful.
“Why, yes Andrew, I can give Rocco a ride home today after the game. But Rocco will have to come over here and ask me himself.”
Our friends sitting around us in the bleachers chuckled. We waited. No Rocco.
So as half time ticked down, my husband waited impatiently for Rocco to come skulking over to ask us for a ride. I knew things were getting testy when my husband started tapping his foot on the step next to me. When Rocco didn’t show up, my husband stood up and shouted, as loud as he could:
“Hey Socco, (he had his own nickname for my daughter’s beloved) is there something YOU wanted to ask us?!” Done, ironically, just as our daughter was entering the gym from the locker room to start the impending third quarter of her game.
Yeah, that went over well. There was laughter from the crowd and a couple of blushing teenagers. Something tells me the line had now officially been drawn in the sand. Get out the tighty whities and the shotgun, dear.
Not too long ago, we decided if you can’t beat ‘em, then join ‘em. And by joining I mean we took Lily and Rocco out to dinner and a movie. A double date so to speak. My husband can’t stand it when I call it that. Weirdly, it was decidedly NOT awkward. I thought it would be, but it wasn’t. And I am pretty sure my husband enjoyed it, too.
Now some may think that this is ridiculous. Why go out to dinner and a movie with your 13 year old daughter and her boyfriend (Mom, were just friends, FOR REAL!!) Well…I figure the more we accept things the way they are, the more likely it is that the lines of communication stay open. Surprisingly, the big guy is on board, still evolving.
We both realize that 13 years old is too young to be in a serious relationship, but by dismissing it, we are doing more harm, than good. All of us know that as of right now, Lily and Rocco are not able to ‘date’ without chaperones. It is understood and respected. We run this ship. Rocco is on board. Lily is on board. I am on board. My husband is standing on the shore, but as least he’s on the beach.
I remember being a little worried about the relationship between my husband and my daughter years ago. Some part of me thought, ‘what if he’s right?’…’what if he sucks as a Dad to her?’ ‘What if years down the road she is in therapy sobbing “My father never loved me!”
Today, I can’t believe it was ever a concern. She is independent, outspoken and shrewd, just like her Dad. And he has softened around the edges. He, who once told me if he had a daughter, he would most definitely screw it up, can’t picture his life without her. He can’t picture life without either of our kids. Isn’t it amazing what the love of a little girl, a child in general, can do?
Job well done, husband. May our daughter be blessed with a partner in life, if she so chooses, that knows when he has met his match, as you have.
