I never expected to see the day when girls
would get sunburned in the places they do now.
WILL ROGERS
It’s surprising how much you can learn when three teenagers are hanging around the house eying your car keys. For instance, I learn humility whenever my daughter says, “Why did you get a haircut? Nothings happening up there.” I learn self-control whenever I can’t find the remote control. Or when my son informs me that eighteen friends are coming to watch three movies in fifteen minutes and that they haven’t eaten in four days.
I learn about history from one of my sons, whose room looks like Pompeii.
I learn diplomacy when shopping with my daughter, something I have been suckered into only twice. (I would like to tell you I also learn patience while shopping with her, but that is still a ways off.)
I learn that teenagers are too old to do things kids do and too young to act like adults. So they do things no one else would dare.
And I learn that times have changed.
When I was a teenager, boys chased the girls. I remember the day in tenth grade when a blonde named Ramona moved in next door, and I made it my life verse to love my neighbor as myself. I remember how my science, math, and geography grades began to plummet in the wake of her presence, and how I pursued her across the vast ocean of courtship by phone, by foot, and in my father’s car.
Back in those primitive years before the invention of helpful objects like cell phones that work underwater, we boys spent a good deal of time chasing girls. We planned for it, we paid for it, and we preened for it. But something happened a few short years ago: role reversal. Girls began chasing boys.
They are aggressive. They are like hungry lionesses preying on limping antelope. They yell out car windows at them. They call them on the telephone. We fathers greet these calls with the same enthusiasm we reserve for telemarketers. “You’d like to speak with my son?” we say. “I am sorry, he is on a mission trip to Zimbabwe where he is marrying several local girls.”
The caller does not laugh at this point. In fact, she thinks she has the wrong number, hangs up, and calls again.
This time we try something different: “Is this Emma, Sophia, or Ashley? There are so many, I get you mixed up.” Believe me, this one works. Try it for yourself if you doubt me.
Since my sons are both receiving calls from lovely girls who I am sure will make fine wives for someone in twenty or thirty years, I have decided to issue an edict to help them increase their chances of that someone being one of my children. I understand there is a list for daughters, but not for sons. Until now. Though shorter than Martin Luther’s Ninety-Five Theses, I believe this list is worth nailing to the front door. I will be doing so myself later today. With a staple gun.
Eight Simple Rules for Dating My Son
If you would like to talk with my son, please do this in the church foyer when the lights are on. Remember to bring your family Bible.
If you call my house to talk with my son, your call may be monitored by our customer service department.
My son is sixteen. The following locations and activities are acceptable for your date. Um…I am drawing a blank here.
If you want to hang out with my son, you will have to put up with me. I am out on a weekend pass from a nearby institution and don’t have a clue what I will do or say next.
My son cannot use my minivan to drive you to a mall. The van is already booked that year.
Please do not touch my son. Do not lean up against him unless you are falling over and in danger of injuring yourself or plunging from a cliff. Do not even pull lint from his ear. I have been trying to do this for years, and he will not let me. He can do this himself.
I am aware that it is considered fashionable for girls your age to wear Britney Spears T-shirts that do not reach their low-slung pants or necklines that sink lower than the Russian ruble. My wife and I have discussed this, and since we want to be fair and open-minded about it, you are free to show up in such attire. My wife will affix it properly to your body with a glue gun.
Above all else, please remember that we’ve been praying for this boy since before God gave him breath, and we will continue to. If you’re the one, we’ve been praying for you, too. When and if he chooses a godly girl, we will be happier than Mr. and Mrs. Turtle when they finally exited Noah’s Ark, but until then we’ll keep praying that both of you will pursue Jesus first, and watch everything else fall into place.
P.S. If you are a teenage girl who has read this and still has a smile on your face, go ahead and call. Our number is 1-800-321. If you somehow get through, just remember that your call may be monitored by our customer service department.
