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Thursday, October 16, 2008
Ten Simple Rules for Perpetuating the Patriarchy
Okay, so maybe the title is a bit… intense, but this is something that has incensed me since I was in high school – since before I was “allowed” to date.
I’m sure most people, by now, have read some variation of the “Simple Rules for Dating My Daughter.” Whether the number is eight, ten or twelve hundred, the lists generally amount to the same. This is more or less the one that my dad printed and gave to me when I was about thirteen:
Rule One: If you pull into my driveway and honk you’d better be delivering a package, because you’re sure not picking anything up.
Rule Two: You do not touch my daughter in front of me. You may glance at her, so long as you do not peer at anything below her neck. If you cannot keep your eyes or hands off of my daughter’s body, I will remove them.
Rule Three: I am aware that it is considered fashionable for boys of your age to wear their trousers so loosely that they appear to be falling off their hips. Please don’t take this as an insult, but you and all of your friends are complete idiots. Still, I want to be fair and open minded about this issue, so I propose this compromise: You may come to the door with your underwear showing and your pants ten sizes too big, and I will not object. However, In order to ensure that your clothes do not, in fact, come off during the course of your date with my daughter, I will take my electric nail gun and fasten your trousers securely in place to your waist.
Rule Four: I’m sure you’ve been told that in today’s world, sex without utilizing a “barrier method” of some kind can kill you. Let me elaborate: when it comes to sex, I am the barrier, and I will kill you.
Rule Five: In order for us to get to know each other, we should talk about sports, politics, and other issues of the day. Please do not do this. The only information I require from you is an indication of when you expect to have my daughter safely back at my house, and the only word I need from you on this subject is “early”
Rule Six: I have no doubt you are a popular fellow, with many opportunities to date other girls. This is fine with me as long as it is okay with my daughter. Otherwise, once you have gone out with my little girl, you will continue to date no one but her until she is finished with you. If you make her cry, I will make you cry.
Rule Seven: As you stand in my front hallway, waiting for my daughter to appear, and more than an hour goes by, do not sigh and fidget. If you want to be on time for the movie, you should not be dating. My daughter is putting on her makeup, a process that can take longer than painting the Golden Gate Bridge. Instead of just standing there, why don’t you do something useful, like changing the oil in my car?
Rule Eight: The following places are not appropriate for a date with my daughter:
- Places where there are beds, sofas, or anything softer than a wooden stool.
- Places where there are no parents, policemen, or nuns within eyesight.
- Places where there is darkness.
- Places where there is dancing, holding hands, or happiness.
- Places where the ambient temperature is warm enough to induce my daughter to wear shorts, tank tops, midriff T-shirts, or anything other than overalls, a sweater, and a goose down parka zipped up to her throat.
- Movies with a strong romantic or sexual theme are to be avoided; movies which feature chainsaws are okay.
- Hockey games are okay.
- Old folks homes are better.
Rule Nine: Do not lie to me. I may appear to be a potbellied, balding, middle-aged, dimwitted has-been. But on issues relating to my daughter, I am the all-knowing, merciless god of your universe. If I ask you where you are going and with whom, you have one chance to tell me the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help you God. I have a shotgun, a shovel, and five acres behind the house. Do not trifle with me.
Rule Ten: Be afraid. Be very afraid. It takes very little for me to mistake the sound of your car in the driveway for a chopper coming in over a rice paddy outside of Hanoi. When my Agent Orange starts acting up, the voices in my head frequently tell me to clean the guns as I wait for you to bring my daughter home. As soon as you pull into the driveway you should exit your car with both hands in plain sight. Speak the perimeter password, announce in a clear voice that you have brought my daughter home safely and early, then return to your car-there is no need for you to come inside. The camouflaged face at the window is mine.
I can appreciate that this is not intended to be entirely serious, but all the same, there are notes of truth in what those who continue to share these forward expect from the relationships that their children are cultivating. I couldn’t begin to count the number of times that my dad would tell me that I’d be allowed to date when I was seventy, that I’m never allowed to get married and other similar “jokes.” Why are these funny? I’ve never truly understood.
Never having been a father, I’m sure I’m missing some deep urge of protection which is what prompts “funnies” like the one that I quoted above. At the same time, all I can see when re-reading this is an interest in controlling who the daughter in this situation may and may not see in a dating environment. He is the kind of boy who adheres to everything that The Father in the situation prescribes for him. He must be respectful, courteous, and devoid of any sexual interest in the daughter whatsoever. He must not adhere to any of the current trends, have an affinity for piercings or any body adornment or styling that became popular anytime after the 1950′s. I’m not trying to suggest that a boy who likes to wear argyle sweatervests and wear a center part is necessarily one who the daughter shouldn’t like, but if she likes a boy who does not have that taste in style, does that make him inherently bad?
I suppose my real problem with this is that it is not only distrustful of the boys in the scenario, but it is also distrustful of the daughter. She clearly has no ability to judge for herself whether a boy is worth her time and affections, and therefore Good Ol’e Dad jumps in to save the day by making a list of rules for the boys, under the guise of being protective. I just don’t see how this benefits anyone in the situation. Dad is asserting his ancient “right” to control over his daughter, and is sending a message to these suitors that they had better be what he wants them to be, because what she wants doesn’t matter. It’s an archaeic point of view from where I see it.
I’m sure someone will attribute my argument to a bad experience in adolescence, unresolved daddy issues or something equally ridiculous. All the same, I think it’s time to rewrite the rules, or even better, do away with them completely. Let the daughters make their own decisions in romance, for better or worse, and be supportive of those decisions. It doesn’t realistically do anyone any good to have repressive rules like these hanging over them, even under the guise of jest.
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