Tuesday, May 23, 2006

Fatherly Advice

"Don't Fuck!" Dad signed.

It was my first date with Rick, a severely mulletted boy (even by late 80s standards) who blinked too frequently and too intently for someone without Tourette's.

"I know, I know!" I furiously signed back.

God, how rude and ineffective. Hadn't my parents figured out by now that they were worthless in the department of distilling advice? I could fuck Rick, whether Dad liked it or not. Whether I liked it or not.

"Don't fuck," he insisted. "I don't want you pregnant. I want you graduate and go college."

I was college bound. A year and a half after that date with Rick, I would graduate from Richland High School summa cum laude with honors. I was in the drama club, held the starring role in at least one play, was involved in sports and a slew of nerdy groups like Wiz Kids.

A dream student. A dream daughter.

In the end it wasn't fucking that stopped me from living Dad's dream...my dream.

It was Dad.

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