Myself, The Mafia, Hell’s Angels, A Mercenary, The Cops, or Whoever Would Like To Volunteer for the Task
a.k.a. The person or persons that will pay you a decidedly non-social visit if you ever touch my daughter against her will or my better judgment
Just for the sake of forewarning, I’d like to take some time and explain to young (and old) men everywhere what exactly – and I mean with incisive precision – will happen to them if they ever decide to touch my daughter against her will or my better judgment. This is a textbook case of no means no and any excuse about not having heard or clearly understood the word no won’t go over especially well to whoever is dispatched to deal with the boy or boys.
This caustic essay reaches far into the future, at least seven or eight years and hopefully well beyond that, I pray. My daughter has just turned five years old and is in no imminent danger of being preyed upon by horny teenage boys with intercourse on their brains day and night and an almost unseemly urge to purge the building excitement in their groins. (I’m not saying all teenage boys are like this but I am referring to the ones who are.)
Now that it’s clear whom I’m addressing I’ll get to the subject at hand: my baby girl.
If I were to commission a sketch artist to draw me a composite of what my daughter will look like, more or less, at 16, I believe I would have a rendering of what I, on one hand, want most for my little girl but, on the other hand, fear most: a ravishing young woman full of vitality and the confidence to take on the world headlong plus the dual propensity for laughing easily and not giving in when her efforts meet with haughty resistance. Many boys will like her for being this way and hopefully all the ones she chooses to mingle with are nice and respectful. I’m more worried about the ones that are less interested in her personality and more preoccupied by her physical gifts.
As I can see already, these gifts make her outwardly astounding and will only become more pronounced with puberty, adolescence, and early adulthood: Like her mother, my daughter will be naturally slim with soft curves. Like her mother, she will also be beautiful, inside and out. Her face is and will likely be rounder than my wife’s, more like mine. Her expression is and may always be one of gentle joy and innate exuberance. Her spotless alabaster skin comes from an early inclination to drink lots of water instead of juice. That’s only her third most prominent feature. Number two is her eyes, which are softly prominent and sea blue in colour, communicating in equal parts an eagerness to absorb and learn and a sincere willingness to listen and empathize. Her hair is what really grabs attention: abundant and unearthly blonde curly locks that are gorgeously interwoven from the root with brown and golden highlights, and corkscrew their way down to her lower back even when dry. It is dream hair: more intoxicating to look at than anything a professional stylist could conjure on a day of divine inspiration.
How her hair appears on the outside is tantamount to who she is on the inside: unendingly creative (which she gets from me), wholly compassionate for anyone who is hurt or in distress (from her mother mostly), delightfully playful and immensely communicative. She is also fashionably stubborn with boundless energy.
Before she reaches double figures in age, I have so much to teach my little girl in preparation for the day when she will turn heads for being more shapely than endearing. Right now, she is noticed most by mothers and grandparents. Ten years on, boys will begin losing their ability to pronounce words when she ambles by. By 18, those same boys will narrowly evade traffic accidents as they swivel their necks in her direction as they drive by – or cycle and skateboard by, for the poorer bunch.
I have in my head a collection of loosely-assembled lessons that will be carried out by myself, during long walks with my sweetheart. In between moments of admiring nature, I will teach my young lady to understand that she deserves nothing but the best treatment complete with respect and consideration – namely from men but also, of course, from hard-driving women she may encounter on the road to a fulfilling professional life.
Somewhere in the course of our walks we will discuss one of my primary lessons: self-defence (which, by the way, must be coupled with reinforcing both self-respect and a positive self-image). This is my vision and hopefully my daughter will be interested to learn. I will explain to her how to strike someone, with proper mechanics and with great force and precision: a swift kick in the groin or a nice fist to the solar plexus, or even a “cuffing” of the throat. I will impart to her that it’s not at all unladylike to hit someone who has taunted you, continues to bother you and simply won’t go away. The theory is, you get one distinct warning and then you get hit. So, if you’re a boy who doesn’t easily take no for an answer and thinks all you have to do is persist and she will be yours, prepare for pain. Also prepare to not breathe easily for a while or pee with incredible discomfort for a week or so. Also, get ready to explain to everyone how this misery was inflicted on you and why.
I know that my girl is compassionate and maybe she won’t want to see a guy get seriously hurt just because he gave her too much of the wrong attention. She’ll get over this feeling with some training, beginning with learning the signs of a bad boy and how to deal with one diplomatically, up to the point when that’s no longer possible.
Then I will instruct her about going into self-protection mode. This involves staring the boy in the eye while in an unmistakable offensive mode: body square to the boy and limbs ready to lash out at a second’s notice. It also encompasses slinging a barrage of harsh language including words that make a devout churchgoer cower. This will inform the lad that he’s crossed the line of acceptable behaviour and she now means serious business. If he perseveres, he can expect that one final warning to come quickly. The young man may also hear some thoughts I will have reinforced in my daughter: “I’ll kick you until you stop moving, and then my dad will hunt you down like a wild animal and dissect you mercilessly with his car keys.” That’s my imagination roaming; her mind will produce different words.
I know what you may be thinking at this point, especially if you’re a parent: preparing you child for the worst is a responsible thing to do but things never work out exactly as planned, and no matter what you teach it may or may not make a difference, and it may or may not work as you planned. I understand this, and so will my girl. The idea is to give her a framework to help guide her.
As much as I dream endlessly about how I will scare the top layer of skin off any boy who dares enter my home in search of my daughter, I realize that this probably isn’t what my daughter wants or needs. I will discuss this with her as she gets older. In the meantime I will read up plenty on how to treat her so that she will keep talking to me about what’s going on in her life and not be fearful to tell me the secrets I need to know about. I vow to be reasonable and open-minded, and will continue to ask my wife to tell me when I made the wrong decision with my daughter or may have gone overboard on punishment.
However, if going overboard in any way means preparing my girl well for the inevitable, then so be it: I’ll probably go overboard. There comes a point in every young person’s life when they will need to confront a situation with courage and resolution. A potential attacker (yes I know we don’t like to think about these things) may need to be told to back off and a physical struggle may ensue. It’s a brutal world out there and these kinds of things occasionally happen. I simply don’t intend for my girl to be easy prey in these situations. If I can do anything ahead of time that will help her to handle the buggers out there who roam the streets with trouble on their minds, then I will do just that. I will teach her whatever is required to get her back home safely and I won’t ever be sorry for having given my daughter what she needs to protect herself.
I have to admit to myself now that whatever I do to prepare my daughter for the big, bad, ugly world may not be enough. The awful truth is that bad things happen to the best people who are well prepared and ready to face vile and vicious people. Fine. Then she simply won’t have to face trouble alone. Not that there will always be people around her to fight on her behalf; that’s not possible. But there will always be people in her corner who won’t mind pitching in to help get her out of trouble. Thought they may not be there on a moment’s notice, they will show up eventually. And when they do, they will be very, very angry and ready to do something about it.
I don’t mean to write in vague, hypothetical language. I will spell it out clearly: If a boy ever touches my daughter against her will and does her any kind of harm, be it physical, mental, psychological, or even financial, there will be a price to pay. If she does not inflict harm on the boy or boys, or is for some reason unable to, then someone else will. That person or persons will assess the situation and do whatever is necessary, be it a doling out a sound thrashing or delivering a clear and decisive warning. That person might be myself, the mafia, one or several Hell’s Angels bikers or members of some other gang of ill-reputes, a mercenary, or even the cops ... or anyone who I can trust and would like to volunteer for the task.
Let me get it straight that I don’t personally know anyone in the mafia or a Hell’s Angels member. Not have I ever met a mercenary or any of the self-appointed folks who do bad things to bad people. I have met police and like them, and I know a few people who share my views on the type of punishment I am outlining: direct retribution for having hurt someone’s son or daughter, wife, mother or other assorted family members. But special circumstances tend to bring like-minded people together very quickly, and I’m not above calling a friend or associate who “knows someone” that can help me in times of trouble.
My daughter will always be sure that her daddy will do what it takes to help her in times of trouble. You might not believe this at this point, but I honestly hope that the police and law enforcement officials can handle these situations on the up and up. I don’t really desire to call upon people who live on the dark side of life, or on the wrong side of the tracks, and do unmentionable things to ignorant youths who have crossed them. I truly prefer to live and let live. I like to be good-natured and happy-go-lucky.
But like I said, life doesn’t always work out this way. In instances where young males make the decision to let their insatiable groins overrule their developing better instincts, I make the choice to do everything in my power to stop them in their tracks. If I can talk to them, I will. If I can’t reason with them, I won’t. When I can control a situation before it gets out of control, I will endeavour to do just that. If I lose control, I vow that it will be for a very good reason. Up to that point, I want my little girl to know that I tried using my brain to stop trouble, or at least whatever methods of non-physical intimidation that sprang to mind. But in the case where she is in definite trouble, I’m afraid that my heart will tend to rule the day.
So, boys, if you’re reading this and your mind isn’t in a clean place and your sexual instincts are in an even more disgusting location, remember these words and know there are more dads out there than just me who think this way. Most of us understand that it’s tough being a young lad with fire in his pants and no place to put it out. But there’s always a manual pump available for that, if you know what I mean.
On the other hand, just as every firefighter has had to pull hose once in a while in order to stretch out a limited supply of it, I’m certainly not above yanking a hose to its absolute limits and even beyond, even when it appears clear there is scarcely little hose to yank.
I believe that I’ve said my peace now and I hope that my daughter doesn’t read this until she’s at least 18 years old. If and when she does come across it, I hope that she will be able to smile as she thinks about her strange and ever-loving dad who would always do anything in the world for her. It is my greatest hope that she can reflect on a childhood that was safe and wonderful, where she didn’t have to worry about horrible things happening to her, and was taught enough every step along the way to feel comfortable in relatively scary situations. I don’t want to think about any other scenarios right now. It’s up to me to put these words into practice. My daughter’s safety depends on it, as does my sanity.
Just for the sake of forewarning, I’d like to take some time and explain to young (and old) men everywhere what exactly – and I mean with incisive precision – will happen to them if they ever decide to touch my daughter against her will or my better judgment. This is a textbook case of no means no and any excuse about not having heard or clearly understood the word no won’t go over especially well to whoever is dispatched to deal with the boy or boys.
This caustic essay reaches far into the future, at least seven or eight years and hopefully well beyond that, I pray. My daughter has just turned five years old and is in no imminent danger of being preyed upon by horny teenage boys with intercourse on their brains day and night and an almost unseemly urge to purge the building excitement in their groins. (I’m not saying all teenage boys are like this but I am referring to the ones who are.)
Now that it’s clear whom I’m addressing I’ll get to the subject at hand: my baby girl.
If I were to commission a sketch artist to draw me a composite of what my daughter will look like, more or less, at 16, I believe I would have a rendering of what I, on one hand, want most for my little girl but, on the other hand, fear most: a ravishing young woman full of vitality and the confidence to take on the world headlong plus the dual propensity for laughing easily and not giving in when her efforts meet with haughty resistance. Many boys will like her for being this way and hopefully all the ones she chooses to mingle with are nice and respectful. I’m more worried about the ones that are less interested in her personality and more preoccupied by her physical gifts.
As I can see already, these gifts make her outwardly astounding and will only become more pronounced with puberty, adolescence, and early adulthood: Like her mother, my daughter will be naturally slim with soft curves. Like her mother, she will also be beautiful, inside and out. Her face is and will likely be rounder than my wife’s, more like mine. Her expression is and may always be one of gentle joy and innate exuberance. Her spotless alabaster skin comes from an early inclination to drink lots of water instead of juice. That’s only her third most prominent feature. Number two is her eyes, which are softly prominent and sea blue in colour, communicating in equal parts an eagerness to absorb and learn and a sincere willingness to listen and empathize. Her hair is what really grabs attention: abundant and unearthly blonde curly locks that are gorgeously interwoven from the root with brown and golden highlights, and corkscrew their way down to her lower back even when dry. It is dream hair: more intoxicating to look at than anything a professional stylist could conjure on a day of divine inspiration.
How her hair appears on the outside is tantamount to who she is on the inside: unendingly creative (which she gets from me), wholly compassionate for anyone who is hurt or in distress (from her mother mostly), delightfully playful and immensely communicative. She is also fashionably stubborn with boundless energy.
Before she reaches double figures in age, I have so much to teach my little girl in preparation for the day when she will turn heads for being more shapely than endearing. Right now, she is noticed most by mothers and grandparents. Ten years on, boys will begin losing their ability to pronounce words when she ambles by. By 18, those same boys will narrowly evade traffic accidents as they swivel their necks in her direction as they drive by – or cycle and skateboard by, for the poorer bunch.
I have in my head a collection of loosely-assembled lessons that will be carried out by myself, during long walks with my sweetheart. In between moments of admiring nature, I will teach my young lady to understand that she deserves nothing but the best treatment complete with respect and consideration – namely from men but also, of course, from hard-driving women she may encounter on the road to a fulfilling professional life.
Somewhere in the course of our walks we will discuss one of my primary lessons: self-defence (which, by the way, must be coupled with reinforcing both self-respect and a positive self-image). This is my vision and hopefully my daughter will be interested to learn. I will explain to her how to strike someone, with proper mechanics and with great force and precision: a swift kick in the groin or a nice fist to the solar plexus, or even a “cuffing” of the throat. I will impart to her that it’s not at all unladylike to hit someone who has taunted you, continues to bother you and simply won’t go away. The theory is, you get one distinct warning and then you get hit. So, if you’re a boy who doesn’t easily take no for an answer and thinks all you have to do is persist and she will be yours, prepare for pain. Also prepare to not breathe easily for a while or pee with incredible discomfort for a week or so. Also, get ready to explain to everyone how this misery was inflicted on you and why.
I know that my girl is compassionate and maybe she won’t want to see a guy get seriously hurt just because he gave her too much of the wrong attention. She’ll get over this feeling with some training, beginning with learning the signs of a bad boy and how to deal with one diplomatically, up to the point when that’s no longer possible.
Then I will instruct her about going into self-protection mode. This involves staring the boy in the eye while in an unmistakable offensive mode: body square to the boy and limbs ready to lash out at a second’s notice. It also encompasses slinging a barrage of harsh language including words that make a devout churchgoer cower. This will inform the lad that he’s crossed the line of acceptable behaviour and she now means serious business. If he perseveres, he can expect that one final warning to come quickly. The young man may also hear some thoughts I will have reinforced in my daughter: “I’ll kick you until you stop moving, and then my dad will hunt you down like a wild animal and dissect you mercilessly with his car keys.” That’s my imagination roaming; her mind will produce different words.
I know what you may be thinking at this point, especially if you’re a parent: preparing you child for the worst is a responsible thing to do but things never work out exactly as planned, and no matter what you teach it may or may not make a difference, and it may or may not work as you planned. I understand this, and so will my girl. The idea is to give her a framework to help guide her.
As much as I dream endlessly about how I will scare the top layer of skin off any boy who dares enter my home in search of my daughter, I realize that this probably isn’t what my daughter wants or needs. I will discuss this with her as she gets older. In the meantime I will read up plenty on how to treat her so that she will keep talking to me about what’s going on in her life and not be fearful to tell me the secrets I need to know about. I vow to be reasonable and open-minded, and will continue to ask my wife to tell me when I made the wrong decision with my daughter or may have gone overboard on punishment.
However, if going overboard in any way means preparing my girl well for the inevitable, then so be it: I’ll probably go overboard. There comes a point in every young person’s life when they will need to confront a situation with courage and resolution. A potential attacker (yes I know we don’t like to think about these things) may need to be told to back off and a physical struggle may ensue. It’s a brutal world out there and these kinds of things occasionally happen. I simply don’t intend for my girl to be easy prey in these situations. If I can do anything ahead of time that will help her to handle the buggers out there who roam the streets with trouble on their minds, then I will do just that. I will teach her whatever is required to get her back home safely and I won’t ever be sorry for having given my daughter what she needs to protect herself.
I have to admit to myself now that whatever I do to prepare my daughter for the big, bad, ugly world may not be enough. The awful truth is that bad things happen to the best people who are well prepared and ready to face vile and vicious people. Fine. Then she simply won’t have to face trouble alone. Not that there will always be people around her to fight on her behalf; that’s not possible. But there will always be people in her corner who won’t mind pitching in to help get her out of trouble. Thought they may not be there on a moment’s notice, they will show up eventually. And when they do, they will be very, very angry and ready to do something about it.
I don’t mean to write in vague, hypothetical language. I will spell it out clearly: If a boy ever touches my daughter against her will and does her any kind of harm, be it physical, mental, psychological, or even financial, there will be a price to pay. If she does not inflict harm on the boy or boys, or is for some reason unable to, then someone else will. That person or persons will assess the situation and do whatever is necessary, be it a doling out a sound thrashing or delivering a clear and decisive warning. That person might be myself, the mafia, one or several Hell’s Angels bikers or members of some other gang of ill-reputes, a mercenary, or even the cops ... or anyone who I can trust and would like to volunteer for the task.
Let me get it straight that I don’t personally know anyone in the mafia or a Hell’s Angels member. Not have I ever met a mercenary or any of the self-appointed folks who do bad things to bad people. I have met police and like them, and I know a few people who share my views on the type of punishment I am outlining: direct retribution for having hurt someone’s son or daughter, wife, mother or other assorted family members. But special circumstances tend to bring like-minded people together very quickly, and I’m not above calling a friend or associate who “knows someone” that can help me in times of trouble.
My daughter will always be sure that her daddy will do what it takes to help her in times of trouble. You might not believe this at this point, but I honestly hope that the police and law enforcement officials can handle these situations on the up and up. I don’t really desire to call upon people who live on the dark side of life, or on the wrong side of the tracks, and do unmentionable things to ignorant youths who have crossed them. I truly prefer to live and let live. I like to be good-natured and happy-go-lucky.
But like I said, life doesn’t always work out this way. In instances where young males make the decision to let their insatiable groins overrule their developing better instincts, I make the choice to do everything in my power to stop them in their tracks. If I can talk to them, I will. If I can’t reason with them, I won’t. When I can control a situation before it gets out of control, I will endeavour to do just that. If I lose control, I vow that it will be for a very good reason. Up to that point, I want my little girl to know that I tried using my brain to stop trouble, or at least whatever methods of non-physical intimidation that sprang to mind. But in the case where she is in definite trouble, I’m afraid that my heart will tend to rule the day.
So, boys, if you’re reading this and your mind isn’t in a clean place and your sexual instincts are in an even more disgusting location, remember these words and know there are more dads out there than just me who think this way. Most of us understand that it’s tough being a young lad with fire in his pants and no place to put it out. But there’s always a manual pump available for that, if you know what I mean.
On the other hand, just as every firefighter has had to pull hose once in a while in order to stretch out a limited supply of it, I’m certainly not above yanking a hose to its absolute limits and even beyond, even when it appears clear there is scarcely little hose to yank.
I believe that I’ve said my peace now and I hope that my daughter doesn’t read this until she’s at least 18 years old. If and when she does come across it, I hope that she will be able to smile as she thinks about her strange and ever-loving dad who would always do anything in the world for her. It is my greatest hope that she can reflect on a childhood that was safe and wonderful, where she didn’t have to worry about horrible things happening to her, and was taught enough every step along the way to feel comfortable in relatively scary situations. I don’t want to think about any other scenarios right now. It’s up to me to put these words into practice. My daughter’s safety depends on it, as does my sanity.
posted by Erich Schmidt | 6:03 AM
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