The little one, aka The Runtyun, is going away to overnight camp for a week. (When I was going to over night camp at her age, we went for 2 weeks and I truly relished the time, learning some social skills only won from extended time away from home, yet I knew I was safe and would be going back soon. Now all the kids get is a short one week session. Well, I guess something is better than nothing.) We have been getting stuff ready and packing all week long in preparation for a week away from home. It has, for the most part, been a stress free process, but in the back of my mind I worried wether or not she has enough underthings to last.
Ever since she has realized that there is a difference between men and women, she has been even more cagy about her “private” clothes. As a consequence, I am never sure if she has enough socks, panties and stuff. We have made forays to various stores and I have enlisted clerks to help in the process of determining the right size and proper fit of certain “unmentionables” with little success. We have tried this in a few different places getting different responses from the sales people ranging from blushing giggles, to determined action. In almost every attempt, we have come to crashing defeat.
Yet, I had to get the kid something, but I did not want to go through all the drama involved in an underwear hunt.
I texted a friend who is young enough to remember what it was like, yet old enough to relate to me (Ashley, you are a good friend). We went back and forth, finally culminating in her offering to take my Runtyun out and finding what she needed. The implied sentiment seemed to be, “You are a man and have no idea what to do here.” :-}
I heard that message loud and clear, but I needed to get this done. So I went to the local department store and found a very nice older woman and plead my case. This genius woman lead me away from the balloon inflated bras poking off the hangers and over to the prepackaged, shrink wrapped aisle, a daddies haven, all the visuals gone. She pulled a 2 pack set that fit into the parameters, my friend had given me. Nirvana! She then showed me some camisoles and panties. I struck gold with this woman!
So, just what was the lesson I learned?
At first I thought a daddy knows best, was the lesson. Then I realized that asking friends for advise, and getting off the Daddy knows all stool was the real lesson.
Then the important one finally brightened my thinking brain. I am the father of a 12-going-on-32 year-old young woman. In this world of growing connectivity, we forget that a 12 year-old is still a 12 year old, they still have the innocence of the young even though they are exposed to so much more information then we had at their age.
They may rile against what their parents want them to do but the truth is, they still are learning and in need of a firm hand to guide them to maturity. Goodness knows, a 12 year-old can be head strong, even a know-it-all, but I think much of it is bluster: “I don’t need your help, Daddy, I know what to do, I know what I want, you merely hold me back, I can do it ALL, Daddy!”
I have known this for a while yet this time merely cemented the lesson: A Father, sometimes, knows the best. My next lesson in daddy-hood, is when I should assert and when to let her learn on her own.
Good luck to me!
olc
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