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]

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.

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!

A Dad, His Daughter, Her Friend

A friend of my teen daughter was recently going through a stack of old photographs when she came across a picture of me. I was in a swimming pool, holding her (the friend) so that her head was above water. We were both smiling, mugging for the camera. The girl was three at the time.
Here’s the weird part: this teen girl and my daughter only became friends in high school. The photo was taken fifteen years before.
To which I say: WTF!?
Before this blog post goes all Twilight Zone on you, know that there’s a simple explanation.
By sheer coincidence, our families had both vacationed in Vegas at the same time. Our daughters met and hit it off in the Kids Club. The parents hit off it at the bar, conversation-wise. And I had spent a boat-load of time in the pool with both girls, so much so that the other girl’s mom took photos of us splashing around.
There were pictures of the two girls, as well. But their looks had changed so much over the years, the friend didn’t recognize my then-three-year-old daughter from that trip.
Somehow, I looked the same. (Fifteen years later!)
I guess all those insulin shots and high blood pressure medicine have kept me well preserved.

Get a Job!

When an oil change for my daughter’s car turned into major automotive repairs, it created a chance to teach our teen responsibility. You see, she doesn’t own the car; her grandparents do. So who exactly was supposed to pay for the repairs? (Subliminal message to our teen daughter: Get a job!)                                                          

My ex and I talked and came up with a plan.

First, we told our daughter that we didn’t expect her grandparents to fix thier own car and then give it to her for free. It’s not like they’re exec at AIG or anything. There’s no money tree in thier backyard. If there is, they kept it secret from me for 15 years! (Subliminal message to our teen daughter: Get a job!)

Second, we told her she didn’t have to take that car. She could find a comparably priced vehicle that she preferred. On that news, she jumped on craigslist and soon found a kick-ass Maxima at a cheap price. (Props to her for being so motivated.)

Only problem, the Maxima was in Boston. But hey – the guy selling it was in the Army and heading to Iraq, and he needed to unload it quick. He’d even pay to have it shipped here to California. My daughter was thrilled.

Um… does that sound sketchy to anyone besides my ex and me?

Who would check the car out? Why couldn’t this guy sell it to someone in Boston? Had the vehicle been in a collision? Was it considered “totaled”? If we did send a check, who would make sure the car was transported by a reputable shipping company all the way to California?

In other words, we told our daughter no to the Boston Maxima. (Subliminal message to our teen daughter: Get a job!)

Our daughter did some more checking, and realized her grandparent’s car was actually a great deal. The car is the vehicle of her dreams, but it’s functional and affordable. Props to her for doing the research, and being comfortable with her choice! That’s responsibility.

Third, while she does have money that she’s saved over the years toward a car, she doesn’t have enough to buy the car, repair it, and maintain it. Her mom and I said we’d chip in on one condition, and our message was not subliminal: our teen daughter had to get a job!

When I was seventeen, I’d already worked a full year, slinging burgers at Carl's Jr.. I couldn’t wait to make my own cash. Granted, my daughter has been a youth soccer referee since she was thirteen or so, and she refereed for gas for a while. But once her collage social life took off, she didn’t want to work weekends anymore.

Now that her teen independence is on the line by way of a car, she’s taking a new and deeper look at the whole work thing. Does she want to spend her weekends refereeing soccer, or being a cashier at Target? Or would she rather spend her remaining free time with friends? She’s thinking hard.

How long will it take for her to get a job? Who knows. At some point, she’ll decide she wants the car badly enough. Or there will be something else that costs money that will make her realize she needs to get a job.

Then again, maybe she found her grandparents’s money tree.

[Posted with iBlogger from my iPhone]

Teen Responsibility by the Truckload

My daughter’s car needed an oil change. Me being a helpful dad, I offered to take it in while she was at school.
Okay, it’s not really “her” car – it’s her grandparents’s. So they are happy to let her drive it. One day, they might even sell it to her at a family price. I don’t like the quickie oil change franchise stores, and instead prefer to use my regular mechanic. That was great for the car, since it has a nasty engine squeak we wanted checked out. I waited until the rain let up this week, then tossed my bike in the truck bed with the intention of cycling back home while the mechanic did his work.

Here’s where the problems started.

I turned on the engine, and the CD player was blaring! Okay, my daughter’s in collage. I’d done the same thing when I was her age. I turned the volume down, and listened to Abba as I drove.

On the way to the mechanic, I noticed the gas gauge wasn’t just low, it was on empty! Damn. I pulled into the nearest station and put ten bucks in the tank. (My daughter later told me she was trying to stretch the gas out one more week. She’d get in the car and verbalize her wish: “Come on, you gotta hold out for one more week!” Damned if that didn’t work for her.)

When I dropped off the car with the mechanic, and pulled out my bike, it started raining. Doh! No worries, I could dry off at home. But wouldn’t you know, it didn’t just rain, it poured – and only during my ride – drenching me to the bone. The rain let up as soon as I arrived at my house.

A few hours later the mechanic called. Bad news. The rear tire tread was too low for the car to be safely driven (especially in the rain), and the front tires were 1/32” away. He doesn’t sell tires – so this is like a massage therapist noticing you need a root canal. Just take care of it soon!

But wait, there’s more! That squeak? Belt tensioner needs to be replaced. Belts too.

Oh, and the front brakes are pretty much gone.

WTF!

What kind of grandparents lets thier granddaughter drive a death machine like this!? (just kidding).

No worries, all these things can be repaired. Right? Um… for $600. Not including new tires.

Okay, at this point I wondered why I suddenly have to pay to fix problems that already existed on a car I don’t own. I tell the mechanic to hold off, and I call my ex.

Turns out we can buy the car from her dad if we want. She can negotiate him down to cover some of the repairs. Blue book value is $3500. So now I’m looking at $1750 for my share, plus some portion of tires and repairs.

WTF! This was supposed to be an oil change.

My ex and I talked things over. We both didn’t want to dump that sort of money into our daughter’s car. I mean, what happened to riding your bike everywhere, getting a job at Taco Bell, saving every penny until you could afford your own wheels? Oh, that’s right. We live in California where some kids are given new Beemers when they turn sixteen.

My ex and I agree that we need to make a plan – between us, our daughter, and the grandparents. Who will pay for what. Who will own the vehicle. Who will be responsible for maintaining it going forward.

Does this sound like a chance to let our daughter learn about fiscal responsibility? Oh, yeah!

I broke the news to my daughter, and she took it in stride.
“It sucks being a responsible adult,” she said.
“Ha,” I said. “We’ve got you on responsibility training wheels. Wait until you’re out there on your own!”

Quarter tank of gas: $10
Oil change: $42
Life lesson for a teen about fiscal responsibility: Priceless

[Read the followup post: Get a Job!]

[Posted with iBlogger from my iPhone]

My Teen Daughter is Dating

My teen daughter recently told me she has a boyfriend. Hooray for her! She’s eighteen, so this is a normal and healthy part of growing up for her, and an inevitable milestone for me as her dad.
She told me a bit about him – smart, athletic, etc. (And close to her age – unlike Miley Cyrus’s boyfriend Justin Gaton, who is twenty. Doh!) I won’t go into more detail for privacy sake. I’ll just say, it sounds like my teenage daughter is making good choices.

[Ed. Note: my daughter and I discussed this post before I wrote it, and I'm not disrespecting her privacy.]

A neighborhood mom recently asked if I’d met the teen boyfriend yet. Um….no, can’t say that I have. Is that a problem? I didn’t think so. I long ago had a father daughter talk about sex and relationships with her, and we’ve had ongoing conversations since. But this mom was concerned that I should be more clued in and involved regarding my daughter’s dating life.

For the record, this mom has met my daughter’s teen boyfriend, and she backs my daughter up on the quality of this young man. So that’s not the issue. The mom simply won’t let her own teenage daughter go on dates with a boy until the mom has met him. She wants to see for herself who her daughter is spending time and getting close with.


On first blush, this makes sense. A parent should care what company their teen keeps. My parents certainly knew the family of the girl I was dating as a teen. So I have no problem with the neighborhood mom’s choice regarding her own daughter.

But looking closer, I’m not so sure my choice is that bad, either.

Mainly because when I have dated, I didn’t have my daughter meet my girlfriend until enough time had passed that I felt things were serious enough to involve them. To this day, my daughter has met two women I’ve dated, and a few more close female friends. Each time, I waited a few months before introducing these women to my daughter.

In other words, my daughter is doing the exact same thing in terms of me meeting her teenage boyfriend that I did with her meeting my adult girlfriends.

I trust my daughter’s judgment. Plus, teens her age tend to date in groups. They hang out together, usually at one parent’s house with a parent home. Just not my house right now. I know at some point I’ll meet my daughter’s boyfriend, hopefully before they’re done being teens.

Can’t wait for my Meet the Fockers moment.

[Posted with iBlogger from my iPhone]

House Full of Teens and a Funny Joke

My daughter who is 18, and like any teenager she takes off for long stretches to hang out with her friends. For instance, the other day after school, she ran into some of her friends at Jamba Juice, and on the spur of the moment they all drove to the Apple store to buy an iPod cable. (Party on, Silicon Valley style! Haha)
I used to have to deal with missed curfews and late-night texts asking for the Dominos Pizza phone number, but these days those problems are gone.

My teen daughter and her friends are hanging out at my house.

They play epic games of Risk. They eat epic amounts of popcorn. (Healthy diet for a teen, include that food, right?) They watch an epic number of TV shows off their iPod on my TV. (That Apple cable rocks.) They stay up late watching House.

My house is suddenly the cool place to hang out. Who knows why? Of course, I’m doing nothing to blow it.

The other night I was making popcorn on the stove. I have one of those Whirly Crank Handle things. I swear, it’s better tasting (and healthier) than microwave.


Sometimes my stove doesn’t light, and so I used a match to get it going. I’m whirlying away when two of my daughter’s friends came in for drinks.

“Is something burning?” the teen boy asked.
“I’m making popcorn,” I said. “But it’s not burning.”
“No, something’s burning. I smell burnt sulfur.”

Remember the movie, About Schmidt? If so, you’ll recognize this.

“You mean, like someone lit a match?” I asked.
“Yeah, exactly!” he said.
“I just used the bathroom.”

Oops. Awkward moment. Their eyes went wide in shock, they couldn’t believe I’d actually said that. Here I was, an old man sharing too much info about my sphincter.

But then I let out a hearty laugh, and they realized I was joking them big time. They laughed with me, then made a bee-line back to the TV room.

Next time they come over I’ll find out if my cool parent points are still at epic enough levels for the kids to hang at Dad’s house.

[Posted with iBlogger from my iPhone]

Raising Girls is Easy

I grew up in a house full of boys, so when my daughter was born, I had no idea what it would be like raising a girl. Let me say for the record - it's been easy. Far easier than raising a son.

Boys are a terror. I know this from the grief my brother and I gave to my dear mom. We broke things like crazy. Windows. Toys. Each other. (No broken bones, but plenty of stitches.) We ran around the house like wild animals, yelling and screaming. We wrestled until there were tears. We aimed slingshots and bee-bee guns at each other, sometimes even firing. (Like a Jon and Kate divorce proceeding. Ha!)

Where was brother protective services when we needed it?

My daughter has been a piece of cake. She does her homework, keeps a tidy room, never talks back. Oh sure, she could help more often around the house. But she's so sweet, and so good at keeping her nose clean, I kind of don't care. She's eighteen, and far from a loose girl, she's more focused on finishing college than getting pregnant. So there are no early-grandpa fears for me! (Watch, she has a drawer full of sex toys I don't know about. Doh!)

It's not just home life, though. Sports teams have been way easier with her. Granted, girls can be catty at times, but they'd rather get along than not. Plus, the coaches early on were usually moms, as opposed to manic Little League dads. As a result, my daughter's teams had way better parental camaraderie (i.e. parties!) I love watching my daughter do her sports.

So, next time someone tells me what a headache their daughter has been, I will knock on wood and say a little thank you that my daughter has been so easy.

[Posted with iBlogger from my iPhone]

Grey's Anatomy – Okay for a Teen?

My teen daughter’s favorite TV show is Grey’s Anatomy. I’ve never seen it, but I didn’t have a problem with that. After all, her mom watches the show. Her friends at school watch the show. Female friends of mine watch the show. It’s a show for women.

When my daughter asked if she could turn the Tivo from the History Channel to her Grey’s Anatomy show, I initially said no. As a single parent rasing a daughter, I don’t get to watch a ton of TV. But then I realized I could have some father daughter time by watching Grey’s Anatomy with my teen daughter.

I swear, before the opening credits even rolled, three couples had sex, including a one-night-stand hookup, and a couple who were only together for the sex. WTF?

Is this what teens are watching on TV? Don’t get me wrong, I realize TV shows push the envelope way more than when I was a kid. And from rebound sex coffee dates to sexy and funny wine country dates to seeking casual sex at a convention, I'm certainly no prude. But what happened to dramatizing meaningful relationships?

In Grey's Anatomy:
There was one woman annoyed that the guy she picked up in a bar and slept with wanted to actually date.
There was one woman annoyed that her boyfriend who she only wanted for sex gave her a key to his place.
There was a couple who had unfulfilling sex, and wondered why they were still together. (Okay, that last one is like a real relationship)
There was a doctor and nurse who started spooning right there in the hospital on an empty bed. (Actually, they were doing a little more than spooning...)
I know that some people these days avoid relationships, just like the doctors in this Grey’s Anatomy episode. They fear that being part of a partnership will screw up their future, or something like that. A great book that discusses this phenomenon is Unhooked, by Laura Sessions Stepp (discussed in this blog post about hooking up.)

Is it good for my daughter to be watching a show where casual sex is so... casual?

I just hope she realizes it’s okay to date and fall in love. You don’t have to sleep with strangers all your life. (And for anyone who thinks I’m setting a double standard – please know that I don’t blog about relationships while I’m in them. Perhaps I’m not presently in the long term relationship I’d like to be in, but my real life is healthier than my blogging hookups reveal.)

[Posted with iBlogger from my iPhone]

My Daughter’s First Screaming Orgasm

My teen daughter had her first screaming orgasm today and she told me all about it. Yeah, we have a good father-daughter relationship like that. Of course, she’s eighteen, so she can make her own choices and live her life as she likes. But it still surprised me how this first time experience unfolded.


She went to Jamba Juice where a teen boy was working the register.

“Can I help you?” he asked.
“I’d like a screaming orgasm,” my daughter said.
The boy flushed with embarrassment. “I don’t know what that is,” he admitted.

Okay, I was a teen boy once, and I worked a food service industry job (Carl's Jr.!) I had some crazy requests in my day, but never did a good looking girl come ask me for a screaming orgasm, or any other “make my day” request.

“Let me get the manager,” the boy said.
My daughter grinned.



The manager was a woman in her twenties. “You want a screaming orgasm?” she asked.
“Yes!” my daughter said.
“I can help you with that.”

Gotta love when women connect.

The manager went to work, combining just the right ingredients, putting it all together to give my daughter the pleasurable thing she wanted.

“Now I know what to give you when you ask for it again,” the boy said.
True that! But will my daughter give him another chance?

btw – the Screaming Orgasm (aka the Dirty Orgasm) is a drink on Jamba Juice’s “secret” menu. Apparently, it’s some sort of Peach Pleasure, minus the banana. Which if you think about it, seems totally wrong. But I digress…

[Posted with iBlogger from my iPhone]

What do you do when your teenage daughter tells you that she is no longer a virgin??? :'0(

My daughter is 19 (will be 20 in April). She just told me that she is no longer a virgin! I really didn't know what to say but I can tell you I was heartbroken. However it's too late to change it now so why get furious about what cannot be changed. What I told her is that I love her and want to make sure that she is protected because I know that she is going to do what she is going to do no matter what. I just want to know that she is safe. I didn't want to flip out on her because I feel then she would feel that she cannot talk to me when she needs to. However I AM her father! Where do you draw the line between father/daughter relationship and friendship with your child? Please if anyone has anything on this please, please chime in. Thanks in advance everyone!