Thereâs a piece of twaddle going around the internet called 10 Rules For Dating My Daughter, which is packed with âfunnyâ threats like this:
âRule Four: Iâm sure youâve been told that in todayâs world, sex without utilising some kind of âbarrier methodâ can kill you. Let me elaborate: when it comes to sex, I am the barrier, and I will kill you.â
All of which boil down to the tedious, âBoys are threatening louts, sex is awful when other people do it, and my daughter is a plastic doll whose destiny I control.â
Look, I love sex. Itâs fun. And because I love my daughter, I want her to have all of the same delights in life that I do, and hopefully more. I donât want to hear about the fine details because, heck, I donât want those visuals any more than my daughter wants mine. But in the abstract, darling, go out and play.
Yes, all these boys and girls and genderqueers may break your heart, and that in turn will break mine. Iâve held you, sobbing, after your boyfriend cheated on you, and it tore me in two. But you know what would tear me in two even more? To see you in a glass cage, experiencing nothing but cold emptiness at your fingers, as Dear Old Dad ensured that you got to experience nothing until he decided what you should like.
Youâre not me. Nor are you an extension of my will. And so you need to make your own damn mistakes, to learn how to pick yourself up when you fall, to learn where the bandages are and to bind up your own cuts. Iâll help. Iâll be your consigliere when I can, the advisor, the person you come to when all seems lost. But I think thereâs value in getting lost. I think thereâs a strength that only comes from fumbling your own way out of the darkness.
Youâre your own person, and some of the things youâre going to love will strike me as insane, ugly, or unenjoyable. This is how large and wonderful the world is! Imagine if everyone loved the same thing; weâd all be battling for the same ten people. The miracle is how easily someoneâs cast-offs become someone elseâs beloved treasure. And I would be a sad, sad little man if I manipulated you into becoming a cookie-cutter clone of my desires. Love the music I hate, watch the movies I loathe, become a strong woman who knows where her bliss is and knows just what to do to get it.
Now, youâre going to get bruised by life. But I wonât tell you sex is bad, or that youâre bad for wanting it, or that other people are bad for wanting it from you if youâre willing to give it. I refuse to perpetuate, even through the plausible deniability of humor, the idea that the people my daughter is attracted to are my enemy.
Iâm not the guard who locks you in the tower. Ideally, I am my daughterâs safe space, a garden to return to when the world has proved a little too cruel, a place where she can recuperate and reflect upon past mistakes and know that here, there is someone who loves her wholeheartedly and will hug her until the tears dry.
Thatâs what I want for you, sweetie. A bold life filled with big mistakes and bigger triumphs.
Now get out there and find all the things you f**king love, and vice versa.
â
This article originally ran at theferrett.com.