I read somewhere awhile back that when you start writing, you should never be too dogmatic with your characters, as they may take you places you hadn't expected them to. Such has been my recent experience.
In the process of completing chapters in other stories, I'm occasionally inspired, if perhaps briefly, in another direction. Such is the case here.
This then, is perhaps the beginning of a multi-part series...
If this were a legal proceeding, say, discovery of facts, for instance, you could call this first part "facts-in-evidence."
To wit, all men are dogs. Despite the vehement protests from some male members of the audience to the contrary, this is not up for discussion.
Some men are noble, well-born, and aristocratic; princesses, kings, and CEOs, for example; at least they'd like you to think they're noble and well-born.
Others are oft times the most loyal, friendly and trustworthy companions to be found.
The rest are mutts.
Bottom line: all men are dogs.
This isn't my theory; a friend of mine voiced it, and having given it great introspective thought, I've had to admit that he's right.
No matter how noble, well-born, loyal or trustworthy a man is, flash him a piece of ass and the flow of blood to his brain will diminish. This, of course, affects some substantially more than others, but that's beside the point.
So, for our purposes here, this is my confession that I am a dog. Read on. You'll understand.
A common practice among a number of "forward thinking" fathers is "date-night" with their daughters. It's an opportunity for dads to take their little girls out to dinner and maybe a movie; some quality "just them" time; and a chance for dads to show their daughters how they should expect to be treated by a nice young man when they start to date for real.
I instituted this practice with both of my daughters, Jessica and Kelly. Jessica, is now twenty-three and an MBA student out west. Kelly, 20, just completed her sophomore year at a college on the west coast that's about three hours south of her sister.
Where they're at and what's going on with them now is something we'll come back to. For now, though, I want us to revisit the "date-night" issue, because that's where all of this really began. You can decide on how innocent it was.
As is typical for siblings, sisters especially, Jessica and Kelly often fought like a pair of cats cornered in a box. Jessica was particularly vicious, hardly ever passing on a chance to put her sister down.
For example, when Jessica and I first started going on our "dates", she told Kelly it was because I loved her more. That caused a bit of a rift between my youngest daughter and me until a few years later when I started taking her out. It took a lot of convincing on my part, but I finally worked Kelly into believing I loved both her and her sister the same.
The high school my daughters went to only allowed seniors to attend the prom, though you could go as an underclassman if invited by a senior.
Jessica went two years in a row, making a point of telling her little sister she'd be lucky to find a date who'd even go with her, much less actually want to take her, which was ludicrous, as both of my daughters are quite well blessed with their mother's stunning beauty.
I still remember Kelly slumping onto the couch moping as we listened to her sister ride away with her senior prom date. Later that evening, we sat across from one another at the magical 31 Flavors ice cream shop licking at double dip cones.
"Daddy?" Kelly was fighting a running drip of double chocolate.
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"If I can't find a date to prom, will you go with me?"
I shoved the ice cream into my mouth to keep from laughing and shook my head slowly.
"No, sweetie. Listen to me." I reached out and took her by the hand. "You're still a long way from having to worry about a prom date. I'm certain you'll have your pick of the boys when that time comes around."
Kelly wasn't convinced, but three years later, I was closer to right than she was. She turned eighteen two weeks before homecoming and two boys were actively in pursuit of her; David and Collin. David was a somewhat geeky math whiz who ended up fifth in his class at graduation; Collin lettered in football and track. My wife, Billie, convinced her David was the better choice. Collin, she said, was a big-man-on-campus, no doubt with lots of girls after him, and would be easily distracted. David was no-such risk.
She and David went to homecoming together, and I swear I've never seen such gaudy flowers as those mums can be.
Kelly never really said much about homecoming, which quickly convinced us that either something terrible had happened or she'd had a miserable time.
The following Thursday, I came home to find Billie logging off the computer and grabbing her keys.
"Headed out?"
She nodded. "And so are you."
"Where to?" I asked, setting down my briefcase.
"Not you with me. You and Kelly."
I raised my eyebrows.
"She says she needs some daddy time, so I think she wants you to take her somewhere for dinner. I'm going over to Wanda's and we're going to that new Chinese place on 21st street."
"Fair enough," I said. "Is she ready to go?"
"I think she's fixing her hair. If you hurry, you've got time to hop in the shower."
I did just that, and thirty minutes later, we were both ready to go.
Kelly loves Italian, and we enjoyed a meal filled with Caesar salad, pasta and breadsticks. After wards, she asked if we could go for a walk instead of going to the movies like we normally do, and after a short drive, we stepped out of the car and began a meandering stroll, hand in hand, down a gently lit pathway along the river.
"Daddy?"
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"How old do boys have to get before they stop being clumsy?"
I laughed.
"I wish I could tell you, sweetie, I really do, but your mom still thinks I'm clumsy sometimes."
Kelly laughed and leaned her head against me.
"Daddy! I'm being serious. Mom just says that. She doesn't really think it."
I took a deep breath.
"Well, baby, a lot of it depends on the young man."
"Key word, there, young?"
"Can be. Is that what's been bothering you this week? Is David clumsy?"
"Clumsy isn't the word, Daddy. He acts all nervous and everything, and his palms get sweaty when he tries to hold hands with me. He gets fumble fingered, trying to hold hands with me. And, ohmigosh, when he..."
She stopped and looked up at me, her eyes fixed hard on me.
"What, sweetie?"
"I don't want to make you mad."
"You're not going to make me mad, sweetie."
"Promise?"
I nodded and smiled and she bit her lip and pulled her hand from mine to slip it through my arm.
"He kissed me."
I nodded my head from side to side.
"I knew a boy was going to kiss you sooner or later, baby."
