By lex, Mon – July 4, 2005
It was all for the asking, a couple of nights ago. A tangled knot of the great unwashed showed up at our doorstep, full of bluff boisterousness and juvenile humor. That’s right, four teenaged boys. None of whom, it might usefully be pointed out, were related to your humble scribe. We watched a DVD together! And, there was an upside:
As we hunkered in one room, we were joined not just by the lumpen teenaged masses, but by the Biscuit herself, making a charity appearance in the family room. With her actual family. For an extended period of time.
This was such an unusual event, that we didn’t dare remark upon it, almost didn’t dare to breathe: If we even so much as whispered our surprise, it could, like Marcus Aurelius’ Roman Republic, vanish like some ephemeral puff of air.
Later, I remarked to the Hobbit that it was a very simple thing to spend some quality family time with our eldest daughter: All we needed to do was to invite four teenaged surfer-dudes over, and we’d see all of her we wanted. Not that, necessarily, we’d receive any glint of human recognition in return. But! We’d be building a bridge to the future!
A future which a father, truth be told, sometimes shudders to contemplate.
So, yah, I found a bit of irony in that.
For reasons which are still obscure to me, but having something to do with the maximum number of heathen man-children that could be accommodated at the lead surfer-dude’s
hovel, warren, burrow, den of iniquity and vice, home, it came to pass that the least objectionable teenaged male (LOTM) was required to overnight at our house, upon our couch. Downstairs. Insulated from the family quarters proper by a dense force field of parental moral severity. I hoped.
But, as it turned out, after the movie ended and the other rogues decamped, I went upstairs to my office (which is what I call the place I play video games and write this blog) to spend a moment or two playing Doom3 and was joined by the LOTM until I had killed enough demon spawn to satisfy our collective bloodlust. And, the hour being late indeed, I escorted him back to his couch, where I wished him a good night’s sleep, and nothing more besides.
But that old irony wheel keeps turning, don’t it? Turns out the next day, in convo with the Kat (who is a reliable informant in all things which might tend to discredit her elder sibling), that the Biscuit had been heard to complain to her girlfriends that she had had a cute boy spend the night at her house, but that he spent the whole night hanging with her dad.
Which I found delicious.
Oh, I know I’m not going to win every time. I know eventually she’ll grow up and move out and all that. But I’m manning the barricades anyway, in any way I can. And I’m trying to forge a common cause with the local rabble, as well. Tomorrow, in fact, I’m taking them to the local skeet range. As it turns out, I’m pretty handy with a scattergun, and can hit more than my fair share of moving targets.
I just think it’s useful that they know this.