Sep 20, 2013
A friend's infant girl of just a year or so old in a pretty pink dress was clumsily playing with a boy of about the same age, “He better keep away from my princess,” her dad knowingly told the boy's father. Everyone laughed and complimented him for being such a good father of such a pretty princess.
A lot of fathers say they protect their daughters. The image of a young girl dressed in a pink dress with her hair and makeup all done, and normally a decided frown, while her father chases off boys is the archetype of fatherly love. A lot of fathers raise their daughters like untouched princesses – and in this way, her value and what the world wants of her is located only between her legs and in the impression she gives to her father. She knows she is a princess, her existence alone is a gift to everyone but she lives in fear of the unknown world outside the range of her father’s shotgun.
My father never did that.
He told me about boys and men and the games and tricks they play. He didn't pretend I would never have sex or would never have my heart broken. He didn't pretend these tricks and games weren't fun, either, he taught me how to protect my body, my heart and my mind. There are temptations and there are consequences and he knew I would experience both.
He never failed to acknowledge my failures with encouragement or my successes with pride – if not a pinch of caution when my ego got to big. He bit his tongue when I engaged in less-than-perfect relationships, career choices or friendships. When the dust settled, he also told me when he was scared for me because sometimes even he could not prevent the worse-case scenario.
My father never sat on the porch with a shotgun. He taught me how to use the shotgun, how to spot the douche and let me deal with him myself. He taught me whenever I was in trouble, he would stop the world to help me – but stupidity and inexperience leave justifiable bruises that I need to learn from sometimes. It was more important for him to develop within me a good character not worry about my reputation.
He taught me every guy-trick and guy-skill he knew. He invited me into the boy’s club, to the shooting range, the garage and the basement. He taught me just as women have things that are sacred, so do men and I needed to respect both places equally. He taught me life isn’t fair, you don’t always get what you want.
He never failed to open a door for me, to carry a bag for me or tell me I was wrong. And even in the darkness of my mistakes, he always treated me with respect, love and understanding.
My father taught me some males only want what is between my legs and some want more and it was up to me to decide how much I give or how much I ignore. And at the end of the day, I must deal with the consequences of my decisions. But a consequence would never be the loss of his love.
My father sat on the porch with a gin and tonic and invited whoever I thought was worthy in. You see, he knew if he was the gatekeeper of my life, eventually someone would get past him and once that happened, I would be in serious trouble. So, he armed me with knowledge to make my own decision and keep myself safe. He taught me one day he would not be there and being without him would not result in my demise.
My father didn't protect me by deflecting the evil of the world away from me; he protected me by opening up the world to me. He didn't raise me as a princess sitting in a gilded cage, he raised me to be a citizen of the world – to give a little more than I think I could, to always be grateful, to stand up for myself and others, to cry and laugh without shame, to be quiet and listen, to admit when I am wrong, to know what the high-road is in every situation and understand the choice is mine to take it.
When I think about it all, I think my father raised me to be a queen – to rule my own world, to make decisions, to dress in the riches of my own work, to be humble and grateful for what I have. I’m not always a perfect steward in the lessons he taught me. But, being perfect was never the plan.
A friend’s infant girl of just a year or so old in a pretty pink dress was clumsily playing with a boy of about the same age, “He better keep away from my princess,” her dad knowingly told the boy’s father. Everyone laughed and complimented him for being such a good father of such a pretty princess.
Be Part of the Adventure
Do you have a suggestion or want to see me attempt something? Drop me an email at AdventuringAmanda@gmail.com with your suggestions.
A lot of fathers say they protect their daughters. The image of a young girl dressed in a pink dress with her hair and makeup all done, and normally a decided frown, while her father chases off boys is the archetype of fatherly love. A lot of fathers raise their daughters like untouched princesses – and in this way, her value and what the world wants of her is located only between her legs and in the impression she gives to her father. She knows she is a princess, her existence alone is a gift to everyone but she lives in fear of the unknown world outside the range of her father’s shotgun.
My father never did that.
He told me about boys and men and the games and tricks they play. He didn't pretend I would never have sex or would never have my heart broken. He didn't pretend these tricks and games weren't fun, either, he taught me how to protect my body, my heart and my mind. There are temptations and there are consequences and he knew I would experience both.
He never failed to acknowledge my failures with encouragement or my successes with pride – if not a pinch of caution when my ego got to big. He bit his tongue when I engaged in less-than-perfect relationships, career choices or friendships. When the dust settled, he also told me when he was scared for me because sometimes even he could not prevent the worse-case scenario.
My father never sat on the porch with a shotgun. He taught me how to use the shotgun, how to spot the douche and let me deal with him myself. He taught me whenever I was in trouble, he would stop the world to help me – but stupidity and inexperience leave justifiable bruises that I need to learn from sometimes. It was more important for him to develop within me a good character not worry about my reputation.
He taught me every guy-trick and guy-skill he knew. He invited me into the boy’s club, to the shooting range, the garage and the basement. He taught me just as women have things that are sacred, so do men and I needed to respect both places equally. He taught me life isn’t fair, you don’t always get what you want.
He never failed to open a door for me, to carry a bag for me or tell me I was wrong. And even in the darkness of my mistakes, he always treated me with respect, love and understanding.
My father taught me some males only want what is between my legs and some want more and it was up to me to decide how much I give or how much I ignore. And at the end of the day, I must deal with the consequences of my decisions. But a consequence would never be the loss of his love.
My father sat on the porch with a gin and tonic and invited whoever I thought was worthy in. You see, he knew if he was the gatekeeper of my life, eventually someone would get past him and once that happened, I would be in serious trouble. So, he armed me with knowledge to make my own decision and keep myself safe. He taught me one day he would not be there and being without him would not result in my demise.
My father didn't protect me by deflecting the evil of the world away from me; he protected me by opening up the world to me. He didn't raise me as a princess sitting in a gilded cage, he raised me to be a citizen of the world – to give a little more than I think I could, to always be grateful, to stand up for myself and others, to cry and laugh without shame, to be quiet and listen, to admit when I am wrong, to know what the high-road is in every situation and understand the choice is mine to take it.
When I think about it all, I think my father raised me to be a queen – to rule my own world, to make decisions, to dress in the riches of my own work, to be humble and grateful for what I have. I’m not always a perfect steward in the lessons he taught me. But, being perfect was never the plan.
A friend’s infant girl of just a year or so old in a pretty pink dress was clumsily playing with a boy of about the same age, “He better keep away from my princess,” her dad knowingly told the boy’s father. Everyone laughed and complimented him for being such a good father of such a pretty princess.
Be Part of the Adventure
Do you have a suggestion or want to see me attempt something? Drop me an email at AdventuringAmanda@gmail.com with your suggestions.
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