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MOST. UNSOLICITED. GUEST. POST. EVER.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Heather Armstrong didn't ask me to write a guest post while she's on vacation. She didn't offer me Hooters French fries either. I'm sure the writers she actually DID invite to write for her are, you know, actual writers. In fact, I don't even actually know Heather. Unless you count that one time she told me right to my face that she thought I would be old, fat and bald. She obviously had me mistaken for someone else.
But if I did know her and if she had asked me, I would probably write some kind of lame advice about parenting daughters. And it would go something like this.
Growing up I only had brothers. This put me at a significant disadvantage when it came to just about everything important. Unless you count knocking each others' teeth out during Japanese typhoons among important life-skills. So, having no other experience with girls, I was easily deceived by the likes of Louisa May Alcott, Jane Austen and Lucy Maud Montgomery. I was tricked into thinking that daughters would be either be one-dimensional people, driven only by social-status and the need to be married to wealthy, handsome, men of status as quickly as humanly possible or precocious scamps on a relentless pantsuit-wearing pursuit to gain a foothold in the mens' club of big publishing. With red hair.
Having daughters is no such thing at all. Daughters, as it turns out, are very much like regular people. My best advice is to treat them as such. Treat them respect and candor and then stand back and never, ever, ever doubt their ability to do anything.
I also though girls would somehow have a knack to be instinctively clean and proper and dainty. Wrong. I've learned to never for a second think that boys of the corner on dirt, destruction, mayhem and stink. Have you ever been on a road trip to Disneyland with only girls? Or driven a car-load of girls home from a dance recital? Or held a plastic bag out the door of an RV during a tornado storm along the side of the highway in Iowa so your daughter can poop in it? I have.
So what does this all mean? Hell, I don't know. I'm just winging it over here. All I know is that any time someone asks me if we're going to try to have a son my answer is, "No. Having only daughters is just fine with me." Every parent should be so lucky.
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