It’s been a couple of years since my three youngest daughters — Mary, Christine, and Teresa — stopped describing boys to me in the way they had always described them. Before they stopped, whenever they talked about a new boy they had met and liked, they focused on how nice he was. They would say, “He’s such a nice guy. You can’t help but like him.”
As I mentioned last week, during the time I was growing up in the 1960s and ’70s, we had limited access to telephones. Most of the communication that occurred between couples who were dating was in person. Parents were able to exercise a reasonable level of control over the amount of time their teenagers spent on dates by limiting the use of the family vehicle and by imposing curfews.
There is a frequent occurrence at my home that involves my three youngest daughters, Mary (21), Christine (19), and Teresa (17). They regularly engage in long discussions about the boys they come into contact with. Of course, the first piece of information they always share with each other is whether a new guy is “gorge,” which is short for “gorgeous.”
Earlier this month, the Administration for Children and Families (ACF), which is a division of the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, announced an $800,000 grant that is designed “to disseminate information about good fatherhood parenting practices by building research and practice knowledge and capacity” and to “increase positive father involvement in the lives of their children.” (Reread what I just quoted and see if it makes any sense to you.)
Although I like the Internet and most of its features and benefits, when it comes to sending and receiving communications of any substance, I hate email. I long for the good old days (20 years ago) when people wrote real letters, folded them up, placed them in envelopes addressed to the intended recipients, and mailed them.
Earlier this year, one of my daughters was standing in the hallway of a local school visiting with a small group of girls. The ages of the girls ranged from 14 to 20. As they were talking, a 19-year-old boy they all knew came walking toward them. (For purposes of this discussion, I’m going to call him James.) As James approached, he said to the girls, “Step aside, bitches.”
After arriving home on a Thursday evening a couple of months ago, I learned that three of my daughters – Mary (20), Christine (18), and Teresa (16) – were planning on going to the midnight showing of the newly released movie The Avengers. When I found out about their plans, I announced, “You’re not going tonight. You can wait one more day and go tomorrow at a more reasonable time.”
A few years ago one of my injury clients, Jane, called and told me that she had recently ended a homosexual relationship and was being harassed by her former partner, Jenifer.* During the time they were together, Jane and Jennifer lived in Jennifer’s house and split the household expenses. They also shared a small dog that Jennifer had given to Jane as a gift.