Look right here! One wish for my daughter.

God is not without a sense of humor – or he has a firm grasp of irony. For the early part of my adult life I had no desire for children. Not because I was egotistical and wished to remain the center of my world; the thought of parental responsibility scared me senseless. I had convinced myself all children grow up to be degenerates where boys skip school and get into fights while girls sneak hoochie clothes in their book bags and slip out of the house after everyone has gone to sleep. I just knew if I were to become a father I would spend the better portion of my remaining years bailing a son out of jail and babysitting a daughter’s love child.

It should be noted that most who meet me say I’m very optimistic.

While being responsible for children terrified me in general, the thought of having a girl forced me to reconsider the mythical Spartan ritual of child selection. I looked at it like this, I could always resort to beating the crap out of a boy to put him on the straight-and-narrow or send him off to some militaristic boot camp if necessary, but what options do fathers have with girls? As far as I was concerned it would have been a perfectly wonderful life if no female were ever produced from my loins – until I had one.

My first child, not planned, was none other than a beautiful long lashed angel. From the moment I laid eyes on her chalky whiteness I was absolutely in love – and my life would never be the same again. Today there are only two females with whom I have difficulty telling ‘NO’. If my daughter grasped for a moment the tightness with which I am wrapped around her decade old finger she could already have a car.

I’m convinced when a man has a daughter his outlook on life should change entirely. I once had a fondness for The Swimsuit Issue and the occasional Playboy – now I go ballistic at seeing a Cosmopolitan or Vanity Fair cover in the grocery isle that shows more of the model’s skin than a nun’s habit. I’ve also become hypersensitive to what she watches; especially shows which center too much on appearance, beauty, or exhibit the occasional ‘boyfriend’ dynamic. The Bratz are Satan’s spawn.

As her father I feel this overwhelming sense of dread as my sole responsibility to be the counter-balance to a culture that will do it’s best to tell her value and worth begins and ends with her looks. Shopping malls across America are filled with untold numbers of tween and teen girls who have already drank that Kool-Aid and my anxiety hits new levels when I consider what she has waiting for her outside the purity of her elementary school hallways.

I’ve met and dated enough women to form this conclusion. The small minority I’ve known who grew up having strong, healthy, and honorable bonds with their fathers all seem to possess a higher self worth and place their value on something contrary to the vast majority of women. Just to be clear I’m not talking about ‘daddy’s girls’. I know plenty of these types who still demand a pedestal even though daddy’s been dead for 20 years – they’re lost and spoiled. Instead I’m talking about the one whose daddy not only told her she was his princess he instilled in her how value and self worth ultimately come from something more than her reflection in a mirror.

Through his complete acceptance and guidance she was given the confidence and wisdom to successfully avoid the traps and pitfalls boys – and later men – would attempt to snare her in. From him she realized she didn’t need to seek validation from strangers in unhealthy ways because her value was in something more than mere aesthetics. He accomplished this by continually reminding her, through his deliberate words and deeds, that she simply needed to

“look right here”

Meaning anytime she was tempted to take destructive paths to gain temporary approval and ultimately experience unnecessary heartache she should keep her eyes looking square into the one man’s who would always honor and respect her for who she is. By looking to him she learned how boys and men ought to treat her and she has the confidence and self-respect to demand nothing less from them. And in so doing she possesses the strength to take a step back from the edge of disaster while everything and everyone says otherwise.

Being that type of father is an admirable albeit intimidating responsibility, the result of which can be far-reaching. I believe, for me, it’s a journey that will go far beyond the occasional daddy/daughter dance or ubiquitous ‘date night’. It will require an intentionality on my part that will often be uncomfortable. Because one thing is for certain, the opportunities for her to take detours will be many and the consequences from heading down the wrong path potentially life shattering. I believe every little girl must know she’s worthy in the eyes of a man, especially her father, and that the man values her unconditionally; and I’m convinced if the girl goes long enough without either she’ll find what she’s looking for in – or from – someone else.

Would you let you date your daughter?

I wasn’t always such a nice guy, There was a season of my life where I would lie and manipulate to get what I wanted. I was calculating and exact; like a master of deception I knew what to do, what to say, and how to say it. I would promise to call – and wouldn’t. I said I really cared – but I didn’t. I’d act excited the next morning – but I wasn’t. Shamefully, women represented for me a means to an end and as soon as the mission was complete, the victory achieved, and the thrill gone – so where they.

I wish I could say that this behavior happened during a time when games and dishonor would be blamed on youthful self-centeredness – but that too would be a lie. The fact is this narcissism occurred no so long ago when I knew better and had a very important reason to act like I did – I had a daughter.

As I think back at my actions in those days I am appalled at the hypocrisy. Here I was, this father to a beautiful little girl, engaging in a lifestyle that I would have been mortified for her to discover. Wasn’t I was supposed to be living in a way that showed her what real manhood should be? Wouldn’t she be getting her queues on how boys should treat her from the way I treated women? If that was so, the rate I was going she’d be pregnant or on a stripper pole by her 19^th birthday.

The first few years following my divorce I was easily able to separate fatherhood from singlehood. Because my daughter was far too young to ever grasp concepts like character and decency I could live one way while she was looking and live another when she wasn't. I hid my disgrace behind her naivety. But as she got older and our communication evolved from monologue to dialogue that little voice we each have started getting my attention. Now that we were having discussions around topics that would be the foundation for her eventual view on life, no longer would my conscience allow me get away with living a double standard.

If there is a litmus test, or barometer, for telling how well fathers are doing – as men- it’s summed up in the answer to this question:

“Would I let me date my daughter?”

How a man responds to that leaves no room for excuses and justifications. We can’t wiggle out of it, use the worn out excuse “you don’t understand”, or sweep it under the rug. All we have to do is replace ourselves, our behaviors, and how we see things with that boy who keeps texting and calling her. All the sudden those private corners of our life, the ones we don’t show anyone but continue telling ourselves is no big deal become a really big deal.

• Would you let that boy treat her the way you treat your wife?
• Would you let him date her if he was addicted to pornography?
• Would you bless their relationship if he had a gambling habit?
• Would you let him hang around if he did what you do – when no one’s looking?

Far too many parents, moms included, view everything in life on a case-by-case basis? We allow way too much subjectivity and leave more room for interpretation than we should. It seems almost every wrong deed we perform can be explained away with circumstance. We have an explanation for that affair on our wives or why we belittle, demean her. But when it comes to our children, especially a father and his daughter, we have no tolerance for circumstances, understanding, or forgiveness.

So we hide our disgrace behind our arrogance.

But as men and fathers we can’t live like that. We can’t disrespect and dishonor our wives but expect boys to treat our daughter like a princess. We have a responsibility, in fact a duty, to live in such a way that our daughters will know, from what they see in us, which boys to become involved with and which to stay away from. Through our actions, how we talk to her mother, how we treat her grandparents, what kind of father we are to her siblings, and how we treat the people around us she will learn to respect others, us, but most importantly herself. And in my own case, to live in a way that she will learn to distinguish a boy’s sincere interest and appreciation from someone who only sees her as a means.

The way I see it, if every daughter wants to marry someone like her daddy I hope to live the life of someone I’d want her to.

Father Daughter Hit The Pump

Over the years, I've watched my daughter mature from preteen girl to car-driving teen, and she’s become quite the confident, intelligent, self-assured girl (young woman). My daughter rocks! (Proud daddy moment. Sorry.)
While I've raised her with tons of love and nurturing care, I never treated her with princess gloves, fearing that would hold her back. I'm a father who wants his daughter to kick-ass on her own strengths, rather than wait for a man to take care of her. (Note to Ann Coulter: I have nothing against men and women coupling up. Lord knows I'd love some feminine energy and regular sex in my life. I just want my daughter to know she can take care of herself.)


My ex has a similar attitude – that our daughter is better off if she’s confident enough to fend for herself. (My ex is someone else who kicks ass in that department.)

This means now that my daughter is driving, she doesn't turn to mom or dad for gas. She’s a responsible teen who buys her own fuel at the pump. Right?


By the time I was driving as a teenage boy, I had a fast-food service-industry job that gave me money for gas, movies, and cheap dinners out with my girlfriend. I never asked for hand-outs from my father or mother. (Okay, when I was down to my last dollar.)

My daughter knows this. So when we hit the gas pump in her hand-me-down car the other day, she pulled out her gas card, pronto.

“How low is your tank?” I asked.
“It’s pretty much empty,” she said.
“And how much money is on your gas card?”
“Six dollars.”

That would buy her a few gallons. Sheesh. She’s got plenty of time in life to learn to be self-reliant. I filled her tank on my credit card.

Sometimes a father’s daughter really is daddy’s little girl.

My daughter enjoys hanging with me?

“Thanks for not letting me sleep til noon, daddy.” I was sitting in my backyard when my 20-year-old daughter, who I lovingly refer to as Drama Queen, walked outside and said those words. My instincts told me she was being sarcastic, but as I looked up from my laptop I realized my daughter was being sincere. ”Fo shiz,” I replied. ”Glad you had fun today.”

I woke up Saturday morning feeling like I’ve been a complete lazy ass the past few weeks and decided to do something about it. I recently lost 65 pounds and although I haven’t “slipped back,” I put three or four back on and haven’t ridden my bike in a month and rarely go out and walk.

Glancing at the clock I noted it was just after nine so I went to my daughter’s room and announced that it was time to get up. ”What time is it?” She groggily asked. I informed her that it was nine and that we were going to the dog beach to take Shadow, our 3-year-old Pug for a walk and to chill for a couple hours.

“Why are we going so early?” Her Majesty wanted to know. ”This isn’t early, Sleeping Beauty,” I joked. ”If you hurry up we can stop and split a donut on the way down.” She wanted to know if we could go to Krispy Kreme and didn’t appreciate it when I said it was out of the way.

”What do you mean it’s ‘out of the way’?” She semi-whined. I paused for a moment to make sure I had all my sarcasm gathered in one spot.

“Well,” I said before taking a long pause. ”You know how we drive down the street and turn left to go to the dog beach?” My daughter looked at me like she knew I was going somewhere with this, however she wasn’t awake enough to figure it out.

“Yeah,” she said.

“Well,” I continued. ”To get to Krispy Kreme we turn right. [pause] And drive about three miles.” Pausing again to gauge her reaction, I realized there was none and so continued. ”And then drive the three miles back,” I explained. ”Then to the beach.”

“Oh,” Drama Queen said, pondering the information. ”Are you sure?”

Was I sure? Was I sure Krispy Kreme was the other direction or was I sure that we weren’t going? Not that it mattered because the answer was the same.

“I’m sure,” I said with a smirk. ”But tell you what. If they’ve built a new Krispy Kreme in the last 48 hours and if we pass it I promise to stop for a hot dozen.”

If you think she let that go, then you obviously don’t understand girls. For the record, I really don’t understand them but I fake it pretty well. Over the next twenty five minutes I was “reminded” that Krispy Kreme is way better than the donut shop on our way. And that we had no other plans the rest of the day, so the extra drive wasn’t keeping us from anything. And that she really wanted to go.

Somehow we made it to the car and with a very friendly pooch in the back, headed towards the Huntington Cliffs, A.K.A. the dog beach.

After scoring a prime parking spot (with 25 min left on the meter) I made sure my daughter had plenty of plastic bags and headed across the grass and down the hill to the beach below. Two cleanups later we arrived at the sand.

Dog beach is a mile long stretch in the OC and is one of my absolute favorite places. Since we were staying for a couple hours, DQ had towels, sunscreen, Kindle, iPod touch, phone, foldable sunglasses (which she wore only after I reminded her to) and assorted other things in her bag. The beach is strewn with boulders and we found a nice spot about halfway down where I could lean against a flat rock and read my social media marketing book once I was done walking both Shadow and myself.

Taking Shadow here is something I love to do but don’t do nearly often enough. Drama Queen stayed to lay down so Shadow and I meandered to the far end of the beach. As we did I noted that my dog has been showing signs of aging and that the last few times we came here she’s had a hard time jumping into the back of my small SUV. Shadow was still running and playing with other dogs but not as fast as she used to.

Returning to our spot, I sat down and let my daughter play with Shadow at the edge of the water. I brought a book to read but I don’t think I got through five paragraphs. I was too busy enjoying the scene of them playing and I remembered back to when we got Shadow from the shelter 3 years ago. It was around the time DQ’s mom moved out and Shadow was a surprise for her 17th birthday.

We had a great time at the beach and once back home, chilled. Around three I decided to make guacamole and to begin getting dinner ready. My daughter saw the tri tip on the counter along with a red, yellow and orange pepper and got excited. ”Are we having tri tip?” She asked.

“Yep,” I replied. ”Tri tip sandwiches, mango salsa, tomato salad with balsamic and other stuff and grilled corn.” A huge smile appeared on her face and she asked if she could make a cake. I told her she could and after looking in the pantry and in the ‘fridge announced that she was making a heart shaped strawberry cake with strawberry frosting and sliced strawberries between layers.

Dinner was off the hook and dessert was too. That brings us back to the beginning of the story. Shortly after dinner (and after harassing her to get the dishes in the dishwasher) my daughter thanked me for waking her up early and for the beach trip. It was then that I fully realized that my daughter actually enjoys spending time with me and that I may actually be doing something right. Cool.

To my daughter

There will be many storms in life, it's how you weather each storm that makes you the person you are and will become. I love you Pumpkin.

Why kids need disappointment

In his book “The Private Adam” Rabbi Shumley Boteach recounts the following story. A wealthy investment banker fell on hard times after a string of bad investment decisions. On top of losing almost everything he was unable to keep his three children in their elite private boarding school. Upon learning this the rabbi took it upon himself to seek out donors in the community to help cover the costs so the children could stay in their school. His grounds for the request, as he put it, was to save the children from “the shame and humiliation they would face if they were forced to leave their school and friends because their father could no longer afford the tuition”.

The fallout from our ongoing economic crisis continues to leave frustration, anger, and especially fear in its wake. It seems very few lots have been spared from the carnage including our very own government. Families who had grown accustomed to pulling money off the tree in their backyard now find themselves living in a reality nowhere near Kansas. The financial avalanche has led to chic neighborhoods becoming littered with foreclosures as the byproduct of biting off more than one can chew, six figure salaries traded in for unemployment checks, and everyone reminiscing on the ‘ole days asking if it will ever be so good again. Yet anyone who has lived long enough knows that part of the human experience includes a healthy dose of challenge and specifically disappointment. While each handles them differently we all know it’s an occupational hazard.

But when it comes to our kids and disappointment the idea takes on a whole new meaning. As parents we want to shield our children from negative consequences, especially if it was our choices that created them. But if we protect our children from all of life’s ups and downs is that good parenting or are we setting them up for even tougher lessons down the road? If we provide cover for all the arrows our child will surely face does she ever learn to manage them when we aren’t around?

To the Rabbi’s dismay his pleas fell on deaf ears and the children transferred to another school. It’s unknown what was said or how the children reacted, but had Rabbi Boteach been successful in his attempts what might have been the outcome? While their dignity may have stayed in tact how would their future expectations been affected? Would they simply assume someone will always step in to fix everything should it all come crashing down? And would there be any point of reference when making their own life choices?

No father wants his child to experience disappointment or pain. As parents we are hard-wired to protect our kids but trying to cushion them from all adversity creates an adult who doesn’t posses the mental or emotional fortitude to deal with any trials or tribulations. One has to look no further than the proverbial rich kid for an example. The Paris Hilton’s or Lindsay Lohan’s of the world are the quintessential snotty-nosed brats who were never told ‘no’ and their actions and life choices reflect as such.

"Life isn’t always fair and bad things do happen to good people."
I believe the strength of character gained by these children leaving their school far outweigh the shame and humiliation potentially avoided by staying. And the prospective benefactors knew as much and understood a basic life fact the rabbi failed to grasp – life isn’t always fair and bad things do happen to good people.

I want my kids to learn early on that life doesn’t always play fair and the good guy doesn’t always win. They must learn there are going to be times when they win but there will be just as many where they get the short end of the stick. And the best I can do when they do come is be there to support them and offer that most southern of truisms:

“If this is the worst thing that happens to you, you’re going to be fine!”

[Posted with iBlogger from my iPhone]

Drama Queen

It doesn’t seem like it’s been 19 years since Breana 's mom dropped a 9 lb. 12 oz., 21 1/2 inch bundle of joy on the world, but it has been. My Drama Queen was supposed to be a King. Two ultra sounds said boy and I still remember standing in that delivery room on the night she arrived like it was yesterday.
My daughter busted her mom’s tailbone on the way out and I called my mom (who was home) and said, “It’s a girl.” She said, “You mean it’s a boy.” I peered back over the top of the gaggle of doctors and nurses gathered there, took one more good look, picked the phone back up and said, “Nope. They were right. It’s a girl.”
That was how my daughter entered the world. In April she turns 20 and I’m feeling kind of old. How the hell did that happen? How did she go from adorable little angel to hormonal teenager so quickly?
I wish I had an answer to that question. I really do. I also wish I could figure her out.
I don’t want my daughter to have the same experience I had. I want her to have fun, make friends and feel like she’s a part of something. That’s one reason I really hope she makes the tennis team.
She has a lot of improvement to make to her tennis game. When I got the coach on the phone to inquire about tryouts and summer practices, I was straight with him. “She’s on the down side of mediocre,” I said. “But she wants to play and she’s willing to put in the work to be a good player.” I guess we’ll see what happens. School starts Wednesday and they’re supposed to find out Tuesday afternoon or Wednesday. Fingers crossed.
I’m not sure what to expect from a hard headed teenager loaded with hormones, emotions, sarcasm, a bit of mischief and who has a dad like me. It actually sounds scary as shit. It’s gonna be an interesting ride, that’s for sure.
I feel like I should apologize to my daughter for the life I’ve given her. I know I could have done worse, but I know I could have done much better. She’s got a bi-polar mom who is in and out of her life and she has a sarcastic dad who can be kind of a dick at times. It’s not a huge hole she has to climb out of, but she definitely has an uphill battle. 

Should I “friend” my daughter on Facebook?

Facebook home page a friend recommendation. I kinda did a double-take at first, not sure what to think.
My 19-year-old daughter has a Facebook account.
I shouldn’t be surprised, really. I’m sure there are a ton of teens with Facebook accounts. I guess I couldn’t understand why Breana was recommended to me. I mean, other than the last name how did Facebook make the connection?
I noted that her mom was linked to the account and I immediately felt a little bit better. It wasn’t some account where she could go off and say anything…this was an account where the parent could view and see everything that was going on.

So I emailed her mom and asked if she thought it was a good idea if I “friended” her. She first replied by laughing, reading between the lines of my email and realizing I was a little freaked out by it all. She told me that Breana has grown so much that she’s actually got stretch marks on her legs now (I mean…wow!) so they also thought she was mature enough to handle the responsibility of social media. She then asked if I thought I was ready to share MY account with her. I only had to think for a second to realize that I don’t post “the world” on Facebook like others do. I post pics of my loved ones (and some silly pics that Breana would probably roll her eyes over), I post occasional YouTube links, and sometimes comment on other’s pages. Umm…that’s about it.

So no, I don’t think I’ve got anything I’d NOT want her to see on my Facebook account. Which leads me to the question…should I “friend” my daughter on Facebook?
Ignore the fact that she might not “friend” me. For the sake of argument, let’s say that she does. The question really is…SHOULD she?
What do you think?

[Posted with iBlogger from my iPhone]

Why Do YOU Go To Hooters?

"Delightfully Tacky" - That's how Hooters advertises their establishment and they live up to it.

Hooters was started by six Florida businessmen who thought, "Hey... lets have a restaurant where hot chicks bring out sub par food while dressed in high-waisted booty shorts and tight tank-tops! We'll call it 'Hooters' and we'll have an owl with great big eyes like he just saw a big pair of hooters himself! Hey... his eyes can even be the two 'O's' in 'Hooters'! Is anyone writing this down!"

I wish I had thought of the idea honestly. I mean, you automatically tap into 50% of the human population with every straight, red-blooded American male (or drooling cavemen) as potential spenders despite whether or not your food is even good (or in my case... gives you the ever-lovin' runs the moment I walk in the front door of my house)!

Let's not kid ourselves here... no one goes to Hooters for the food. HONESTLY! SERIOUSLY! C'MON DON'T LIE TO ME! Guys go to Hooters in hope that they'll get the one waitress that has to put in her five hours of work a week to be able to compete in the Hooters International Swimsuit Pageant.

I fit into that demographic. I'm straight, I'm red-blooded, I'm American, I'm male and, I don't frequent a Hooters but I'd be lying if I said I'd never set foot in one. Only on special occasions have I ever gone to a Hooters i.e. bachelor parties, guys night out, bat mitzvahs, etc. Never have I turned to Breana and said, "You wanna go eat at Hooters tonight? I'm really craving some wings." You know why I would never ask her that? Because she knows I'm not going to eat their food! C'MON!!! SERIOUSLY!!!

Hooters taps into the most blatantly obvious visual stimulation to sell food and people don't care that they're being led like lambs to a slaughter.

"Hey you... you want to eat these chicken wings that are guaranteed to give you the runs later?"

"No! Are you crazy?"

"How about a perky young college student with big hoo-hoo's and booty shorts serves 'em up to you? Would you mind getting the runs then?"

"Hmmm... do you have any artery clogging, high-fat ranch I could dip those wings into?"



"Hi there cutie! I hear you wanted the runs?"

Hooters uses boobs to sell food! They're not well-known for their food! "Man... that Hooters has some GREAT food!" is not something you're ever going to hear!

Don't get me wrong, I've got nothing against Hooters other than it's blatant, "in your face" tactics at selling chicken wings. Hell... Katelyn even considered working at Hooters years ago when we were just dating as a way to make ends meet. They've got no qualms in advertising what's really so awesome about Hooters... they might have well just called it "Boobies"... then you still could have used to huge eyes for the two "O's" in "Boobies".

Quite simply, Hooters leaves less to the imagination than Olive Garden and that's why dudes like it. I don't want to and WILL NOT expose my daughter to that... it'll undoubtedly get shoved in her face eventually no matter how much I try to protect her from it. In the meantime I'll do my best to keep her from it.

Would you take daughter to Hooters? Would you take your kid to Hooters? Would you go to Hooters? Have you been to Hooters? Do you like Hooters (the restaurant AND the body part)? Let's see... tell me anything ANYTHING...

Nude Dream

My daughter called me into her room the other morning. She needed help. She has just started taking a psychology class, and the teacher told them to write down their dreams upon waking. Seemed like a fine assignment for introducing students to psychological concepts: the conscious, subconscious, superconscious, and wish I were conscious but it’s only a sexy dream with naked women parts of the mind. (Stop me if I’m getting too technical.)
“I don’t have dreams,” my daughter said.
“What do you mean?” I asked. “Everyone dreams. You probably just don’t remember them.”
“Fine, I don’t remember. But I need to write something down. What should I do?”
Ever the good father, wanting my daughter to do well in school, and to not go without anything in life – I suggested (half joking) she use one of my dreams. I’ve had some doozies lately.
She considered my suggestion (if only to appease me for trying to help.)
“What did you dream about last night?” she asked.
“I’m not sure you want to hear,” I said. Me nude with naked women isn’t exactly father daughter material.
She frowned, skeptical
“I was naked,” I said.
“Ewwwwwwwww!!!!!”
Now, now. I wasn’t about to haul off and tell my daughter a dream about her father being nude. It’s just my sense of humor to take things right to the edge, then back off. She knows this. I chuckled.
“It’s not gross,” I said.
She gave me a curious look, like maybe this was a crowning moment in growing from a teenager into an adult. If you can talk with your dad about naked dreams, you’re just being mature, right?
“My teacher did say that dirty dreams are common, and nothing to be ashamed about,” she said.
“Ewwwwwwww!!!!!” I said. Now she was taking me to the edge. (Leave it to my daughter to turn the tables on her old man. She’s clever like that.)
We agreed it was best not to discuss my dream.
The problem is – the dream was so vivid, I now want a dream interpretation done on it. Think I could write it on a note, and have my daughter give the folded note to her psychology teacher? I’m guessing the teacher would have a field day. I’m also guessing it would embarrass my daughter to no end. Ha ha. (Don’t worry, I won’t do that.)
So, dear reader, I need your help. Want to interpret a dream with naked women? Here it is… and if you’re the type who goes “ewwwwww!!!!!”, you can avert your eyes now. And if you actually know a PhD thing or two about naked dream interpretation, feel free to mess with me. (Ha ha.) Have fun…

I was nude, taking a shower with three naked women. They stood surrounding me, carefully washing me. I suddenly realized I was a grown man (you know how facts creep up on you in dreams), and they were all quite beautiful, in great shape – slim, curvy, dream women (appropriate, no?) – but they weren’t being all sexy or sleazy with me. They were simply washing me because they quite earnestly wanted me to be clean.
“Hey, get out,” I said. I covered up as best I could, and nodded for them to leave the shower. They stepped out and walked away. Then I realized I didn’t want them to go. Not that I wanted a sexy threesome. I just hadn’t wanted them all in the shower with me at once, at least not if their only intent was to make me clean.
“Hey, come back,” I said. (Don’t you love how contradictory dreams can be?) One naked woman stepped back into the shower.
“Do you want me to wash you?” she asked.
“No, I can wash myself,” I said. “Where are the others?”
“You told them to leave.”
“But I want them back.”
“You don’t want just me?”
“No, it’s not that. You’re great.”
“Well, I’m not going to have sex with you,” she said. (Damn dream.)
I realized that I didn’t want to have sex with any of these three women, despite their dreamy sexy beauty. I wanted sex with some woman I hadn’t met in my dream yet.
“Can’t you bring me the woman who is supposed to have sex with me in this dream?” I asked.
And then I woke up.

Dating Advice from a Dad to His Daughter

As a single dad on the dating scene, I can totally relate to my daughter as she dates. The butterfly feelings of meeting someone new, the nerves that come with letting that person know you're interested, the anxiety of wondering if they'll return the love/like/lust, the sheer pleasure in holding hands, kissing, and spooning (er, that last part is for me, not my daughter. Yet!) No matter the age, romantic relations can be equal parts madness and bliss.
I already blogged about how dating for single parents is tougher than a high school crush. But in some ways, it's also easier.
And so, I wanted to write an open letter of advice to my daughter, to get us on the same dating-wise page.
Dear Pumpkin...

You've reached an age where you are starting to explore the pleasures of spending intimate time with members of the opposite sex. I know you'll steal moments with a dating crush, then not tell me about it. That's okay. I used to tell my parents I was going bowling, then make out with my girlfriend for hours on end. (Now that I'm a parent, I realize my own parents probably weren't as dumb as I made them out to be when I was a teen!)
Tip #1: Don't fall in love with a teacher. It never leads to anything good. I had classmates in high school get involved with teachers. I had friends in college sleep with professors. None of those relationships lasted, and they caused a ton of other problems for all parties involved. (Older men younger women dating relationships can be awkward for a tight-knit community like a school.) Just remember to keep your eyes fixed on other students, and leave it to me, the single dad, to be hot for teacher when appropriate. (Haha. If any readers are getting bent out of shape by that cheeky remark, go fix a cocktail and down it before reading more!)
Tip #2: Don't send dirty text messages to crushes, or anyone you're dating. Trust me, at your age, stuff like that has a tendency to end up on social networking sites, right when a college admissions counselor is reviewing your application. Feel free to send as many dirty text message jokes as you like - from a friend's phone! (Haha. Not really. My daughter has had friends misuse her phone, and it's no phone for a parent to deal with the repercussions later. Ready yet for another cocktail?)
Tip #3: Learn how to cook. I know, I know - cooking is boring. At least that's what you think now. There are reasons why I cook - it grounds me in the present moment, and makes me happy knowing I'm creating a healthy meal from scratch. All more than you care to fathom right now. Just know if you can grill asparagus for a date, you'll likely get your date all hot and bothered. (Just don't tell me about the hot and bothered part!)
Tip #4: Don't go to parties! Okay, I'm being paranoid. But I do know that bad things can happen when young people drink. That said, once you're in college, feel free to attend as many toga parties as humanly possible, drink as much beer as you can without destroying your GPA, learn a killer margarita recipe, and generally do as many crazy things as possible (keeping in mind the social network angle - future employers might find out!) Maybe skip parties where they expect you to be nude in chains, in a cage. (Nude yoga? Er... just don't tell me about it.) Other than that, knock yourself out!
Tip #5: If you fall in love, get married, have children, then drift apart and get divorced - know that it's not the end of the world. Divorce is hard, no doubt, and I'm not necessarily recommending that approach. But if it happens, deal with it. Dating after divorce is possible. (See tips #1, #2, and #3 above.)
I hope you find the love of your life, but more importantly - I hope you learn to give love without condition. There's no greater bliss.
Love, Dad

Father Daughter Weekend Indoors

It was spring break for my daughter last week, this single dad and his daughter planned to spend a weekend outdoors, starting with a day of sailing the San Francisco bay.
Unfortunately, the universe had other plans. My daughter woke up in the middle of the night Friday night – sick. Fever, stuffy nose, coughing, puking her guts out. And so we spent a father daughter weekend indoors.
It turned out to be totally fun.
I took her to the doctor Saturday morning for meds, then we spent the day hanging out. I pampered her silly. Juice? I’ll get that. Popsicles? On demand. Time for medicine? I’ll measure your dose. Hot tea? Allow me. My daughter loved it.
Turns out there was a marathon on TV. No, not the running kind – we’re talking America’s Next Top Model (Obsessed!), hosted by super model Tyra Banks. A whole season, back to back, in one day. Like any good dad who is clueless to his teen daughter's world, I sat and watched episode after episode with her.
Me: “Jenna, the blonde, is really photogenic. She needs to stay.”
Tyra Banks: “Jenna the blonde has an attitude problem Time for her to GO HOME!”
Doh!
Me: “Saleisha looks scary in that photo.”
Tyra Banks: “Saleisha reminds me of me! She is HOT HOT HOT!”
Doh!
You get the picture. Every opinion the judges had was the opposite of mine. My daughter loved it. She didn’t take sides, she simply enjoyed seeing me have no clue about fashion and modeling. ( My daughter is not a princess – more like a tomboy – but for some reason she loves TV shows like this. Oh, and Grey's Anatomy.)

All in all, we had fun. And after that weekend, I think it’s my daughter’s turn to pamper her old man.

10 things fatherhood has taught me thus far

1. There will be drama every single day. Except for maybe the first day of school.

2. My daughter loves me unconditionally. She doesn't care about any of my flaws.

3. The money in my wallet is not mine. It’s my daughters. I’m just the walking ATM.

4. Sleep is a luxury. It is no longer a necessity or a right.

5. Parenting has made me into a blubbering fool at times. It’s OK for a superhero to cry right?

7. I learn from my daughter to be better, stronger and faster. See #2.

8. Sometimes I think my daughter secretly work for the Taliban on the weekends. See #4.

9. Braiding hair is not as easy as it looks. Really.

10. Beer is dear, but liquor is quicker. See #1.

So what have you learned thus far?

[Posted with iBlogger from my iPhone]

I Am Indeed A Violin

"She'll pull you out on the river - she's gussied up like sin,
You got jack all squat - you're a violin
And you're gonna get played until the money's all gone
Dearly beloved, the fix is on..."

- "The Fix Is On" by Peter Mulvey, from the album The Knuckleball Suite

Yes, it's true, no matter how much I try to deny it.

I am a violin.

How do I know this? My daughter is a master violinist, and doesn't really know it yet. She plays me like nobody can, I'm powerless to stop it. It's like I'm Superman (don't laugh, please) and she is like this five and a half foot tall, nineteen-year old block of kryptonite that wheedle better than God.

Yeah, yeah, I know, I'm 28years older than her, I'm stronger/faster than her. I am adult with a job and rent and I can drink beer anytime I want and drive* anywhere anytime...yet, somehow I can't resist the force of nature that is my Wee Lass.

I could say its because I just can't stand to hear whining, in any way shape or form. Especially that dentist-drill-in-the-form-of-a-kids-voice that so many of the kiddies are able to inflict on the world**. I could say its because the little kids are cute-cuddly-the-future-of-the-humna-race-blah-blah-blah...I could even say its because I am just a weenie who cannot muster the cojones to say no, just because I am the dad and I said so. And these are significant reasons why I am a violin.

But...the real reason is...I look at my daughter and she looks back at me with those impossibly beautiful eyes of hers and she smiles or does the "Happy Dance" and I say something that makes her laugh, and ohmygawd that laugh, that laugh can launch ships and cure the sick and it makes me want fall to my knees and kiss her feet because, because, because...

...she's my big pretty girl and I am dumbstruck***, in awe, totally flummoxed and grateful that I can be in her presence and know that I had something to do with bringing her into the world.

And that makes me a truly lucky man.

Driving Under The Limit!!

Having a daughter who has been driving for a few years and a niece who is about to get her permit…and watching their friends drive has gotten a bit under my skin lately.

As we live in a country with the lowest driving age (shared by Canada and parts of Australia - 16) and I know that some back-assward states let kids get permits at 14…

I started to look at some statistics. They frightened me!

• There are more than six million car accidents each year in the United States.

• A person dies in a car accident every 12 minutes and each year car crashes kill 40,000

people.

• The leading cause of death for individuals between 2 and 34 years old is motor vehicle crashes.

• Someone is injured by a car crash every 14 seconds and about two million of the people injured in car accidents each year suffer permanent injuries.

• Over 25% of all drivers were involved in an auto accident in a five-year period.

• Excessive speed is the second most common cause of deadly auto accidents, which accounts for about 30% of fatal accidents.

• Car crashes cost each American more than $1,000 a year; $164.2 billion is the total cost

each year across the United States.

• Car accidents are the leading cause of death for kids between 2 and 14; About 2,000 children die each year from injuries caused by car accidents.

• Each year, almost 250,000 children are injured in car crashes, meaning nearly 700 kids are harmed every day.

• Car accidents are the leading cause of acquired disability nationwide.

Now why can’t we get on board with the rest of the world and raise the minimum driving age to 17 or even 18 ?

When I see things like this….

I get furious! (Fine…I may be prone to road rage….but this is why)

Your thoughts?

Cash Back Recycling – Brilliant!

On trash pickup days, we put our recyclable materials in curbside bins: glass bottles, plastic bottles, tin and aluminum cans. The city hauls them all away for recycling.
“Do we get the CRV?” my daughter asked.
“No, we just let the truck take it all away for free,” I said. “And we feel good for recycling.”
My daughter was aghast, We were giving away cash! Ever the industrious teen. She kept the recyclable containers aside until we had a month’s worth of bottles and cans. It was a huge pile of loot, with plenty of those big dime-value containers.
We drove to our local recycling center, and were promptly told to sort our cans and bottles into bins. No problem! We had already separated the glass and plastic. How hard could it be?
“Clear glass here, colored glass there, aluminum here, plastic there, tin here,” the guy running the place said. A gruff-looking man rode up on a bicycle with huge plastic bags full of recyclables that we guessed he collected off the street. He didn’t need a tutorial, he went straight to work at sorting his find. Hey, if he can do it, so can we.
“Just make sure it says CA CRV on the label,” the recycling station manager said to us.
“Don’t they all say CA CRV?” we asked.
The recycling station manager cracked a smile. “Nope.”
For the record – California pays cash back for containers that held water, soda, beer, wine coolers, mineral water, sport drinks, coffee, tea and juice. (The redemption value is added on to the price of the beverage when you buy it.)
Those milk cartons we brought? Bzzzt.
Those plastic yogurt containers? Bzzzt.
Those tin cans that had healthy vegetables? Bzzzt.
For the stuff we returned that had redemption value, our cash back totaled a whopping 70 cents. That’s not even enough to buy a taco!
“So much for getting rich off our own recycling,” my daughter said.
My daughter gives up too easily. Clearly, we’re eating the wrong things.
“No more milk in your cereal,” I said. “Soda pays cash back.”
Caching!

Senior Moment

I recently celebrated a birthday that edges me closer to 50 than 40, and my daughter has predictably started teasing me about having senior moments. You know, those times you forget something you clearly should have remembered? Like wondering where your glasses are when they're sitting on top of your head.

I pride myself on having a razor sharp wit. (Whether I'm witty or not is still up for debate.) And so I don't exactly relish any senior moments that happen to me. I try to laugh them off and blame my pre-dinner insulin shot. Anything but accepting that my brain isn't quite what it used to be. (Is there an old home remedy for senior moment-itis? Sigh. Didn't think so...)

So I was thrilled when my teen daughter had a senior moment of her own.

My eighteen-year-old daughter is a collage sophmore. She's chosen extremely tough class load at school, with multiple hours of homework each night.

Add in club soccer, volunteer work, refereeing to make a buck, and she doesn't even have time to set the dinner table.

Okay, before anyone calls Child Protective Services, please know my ex and I talked to our daughter, and suggested she lighten her load. One less class won't make her collage transcripts look bad. And the time saved will be a huge benefit to her mental and physical health.

My daughter agreed, talked to her counselor, dropped a homework-intensive history class, and was good to go.

She texted me one morning from her school: have you seen my history book? I need to turn it in.

I was off work, so it was simple enough to duck into her room and look. No book on her desk, in the dresser, on the floor, on her bed. I texted: not here.

Twenty minutes later, another text from here: I'm sure I brought it to your house from mom's.

Okay, my daughter is Miss Super Student. More than once, she's been the sharpest tool in the shed. So of course, I figured I was having a senior moment and I'd overlooked the history book in her room. I searched again. No luck. I texted her back: sorry, it's not here.

She texted me: okay, I'll check my car.

If my daughter lost her book, it wouldn't be a big deal. She simply have to pay for a replacement. Textbooks aren't cheap, and teens don't make much money, so it would hit her where it counts. But she'd survive. Maybe even learn a lesson from it.

A few hours later, I received a text from her: I just remembered - I turned the textbook back in before school this morning.

Can you say "senior moment"?

I can. And she'll never hear the end of it. I guarantee.

Teen Daughter – Curfew, Shmurfew

My teenage daughter has her driver’s license, her own car, her own cell phone, and her own set of friends. In other words, I’m starting to not see her much lately. She’ll take off on a weekend afternoon to hang out, or engage in Nerf-gun wars. She’ll take off on a weeknight to study with friends.
I’m suddenly having to set and enforce curfews.
She’s an adult, and she’s in college, so I’m trying to give her as much curfew freedom as possible. With freedom comes responsibility, right? And what better time to learn responsibility than when you’re living at home with a parent to guide you.
On a recent Saturday night when my daughter was out with friends, she texted me an hour before her midnight curfew: can I stay till 1?
I texted back: where r u?

She texted that they were at a friend’s house, watching the Sound of Music on DVD.
A one hour extension seemed perfectly reasonable to me, especially since she’d given me decent warning. I asked who else was there. She told me – a mix of boys and girls, and the girl’s parents were home. I said fine, be home by 1am.
At 12:30am, she texted again: can I stay till 2?
WTF? When she texted the first time, she would have known what time the movie would end. I was guessing they were moving on to some other entertainment – Wii, or cards, or Craig Ferguson on TV.
I figured this was a teaching moment. Since she wasn’t giving me any compelling reason to push her curfew to 2am, I decided she could live with her first request.
I texted back: no.
Five minutes later my phone rang. (My daughter never calls me. She only texts)
“Hi, Mr. Valadez,” a girls’ voice said. “This is your daughter’s friend Maxine.” (Name changed to protect the innocent.) “Can your daughter sleepover tonight?”
Huh? This was way beyond watching a DVD, or playing Wii. I mean, sleepovers are fun and all, and I’m fine with my daughter sleeping over at a girl’s house. But for me to be asked by my daughter’s friend? In the middle of the night? When I’d already been told there were boys?
“No,” I said. “Tell her to be home by one.”
“It’s just girls sleeping here,” the friend said.
“That’s great. One o’clock.”
Sometimes a dad has to be firm with his daughter.
Especially when he’s usually a pushover.

When a Dad’s Daughter Needs Girl Stuff

My daughter asked me to buy her tampons the other day. Ugh. That’s the last thing a dad wants to get at the local drug store. It’s bad enough buying her razors (little pink ones), face soap (fancy junk from a spa), shampoo and conditioner (a very specific brand and type).
I can never find exactly what she wants. I stand there endlessly searching shelves while female shoppers wonder why their section’s been overrun by a guy. Men no more belong in an aisle of women’s personal things than women belong by racks of jock-itch cream.
But feminine hygiene products? Someone please find me a rock to crawl under.
“Can’t you get them yourself?” I asked.

My daughter is eighteen and has her driver license. She loves any excuse to get behind the wheel, including running an errand.

“I really need them,” she said. “I’m already out.”

“So go right now.”
“I’m about to take a shower.”
She’d just returned from the gym and needed to get cleaned up. Plus, she’d driven herself there, so maybe she already got her behind-the-wheel thrill for the day.
“Don’t you have an emergency one in your bag?” I asked.
“I used it,” she said.
If she was at her mom’s house she could raid the bathroom and find what she needed. But here in her dad’s house, she’s the only female.
She smiled sweetly, one of those pretty-please looks that melts a dad every time.
I sighed. “Can you plan a little better next time?” I asked.
“Okay,” she said, then kissed me on the cheek.
She told me exactly where to go in the drug store, as well as the brand name and color of the box. (Oddly enough, the word tampon doesn’t appear anywhere on the packaging. How the heck would I have found what she needed on my own?)
Ah, but did she want scented or unscented? I was tempted to pick a box and go, but I’d come this far, I wanted to get the right one. With my daughter in the shower and unable to talk on the phone, I dialed her mom. Nothing like saying the word tampon into the phone with nearby customers peering and leering at me.
My daughter was pleased with the purchase, happy and grateful I’d come through in a pinch. I have to admit I made it through the experience unscathed.

Cell Phone in the Dryer

My daughter’s cell phone went through the laundry.
There, I said it. And no, it’s not easier to say simply because it happened at her mom’s house. What happened could have happened at my place or anywhere.
You see, my daughter did the laundry, and she doesn’t normally do that chore. She dumped things in the washer one pile at a time. So she didn’t exactly check every pocket for rocks or gum or money.
Or cell phones.
At least I know she won’t be sending any dirty text messages. (Haha. Get it?)
Lesson learned, for my daughter.
My daughter should have emptied her cell phone out of her pocket before she chucked her jeans in the dirty clothes basket.

You’d think she would have noticed when her phone wasn’t near her! She’s a texting maven. Her phone chimes, rings, and buzzes off the hook, even when it’s not exactly on the hook.
To help her learn a lesson, we waited a month (!!!) before replacing the dang thing. And we charged her a pretty penny for her share of it. But replace it we did. She’s back texting again.
“Hey Dad,” she said this morning. “I’m popular!”
“Why do you say that?” I asked.
“I’ve gotten 200 texts in the last 2 days!”
I don’t equate popularity with number of texts, or self esteem with texting. But she’s only eighteen. Let her have her fun, eh?
“Do you have unlimited texting?” I asked.
“Yes!” she said.
“Are you sure? Because if you don’t, you’re paying the over-run charges.”
She went silent. After paying her share of the replacement phone, I can’t blame her.
“Mom says it’s unlimited,” she said.
Huh? “Are you positive?” I asked.
“I just texted her!”
That’s my Pumpkin!