I know my problems don’t amount to much, especially when compared to taking on Syria over its alleged use of chemical weapons.
But if you think President Obama had a bad week, I just discovered middle school boys are trying to move in on my daughter.
Not only are they trying to score points with her, they made the attempt right in front of me.
IN. FRONT. OF. ME.
Either young boys are more brazen now than in my day, or they just aren’t that bright.
Because now, I’ve got my eye on them.
Dads know what to expect as soon as their daughters are born. We don’t always say it out loud, but we know we are in trouble and well aware there will come a day when we are no longer the only man in their lives.
It wasn’t long after mine was born that I surreptitiously started going over the steps I needed to take to prepare us both.
For example, I enrolled my daughter in karate when she was younger. And this Christmas, it’s clear pepper spray is going to make a good stocking stuffer.
I fear, however, that I haven’t done enough.
That became obvious when I took my daughter and her best friend to a high school football game last week.
I thought it was a great idea. They would get to go to the first home game of the season at the high school they’ll be attending in a couple of years and I would get to watch my teenage son perform in the school’s marching band.
As it turned out, I ended up spending much of the game standing guard and very nearly missed the entire halftime show.
The trouble started almost as soon as we sat down. Two boys approached us almost immediately.
At first I was impressed with them. They readily introduced themselves as classmates of my daughter and even initiated a warm handshake.
And they called me “Mr. Snyder.”
Who does that anymore?
But while one politely chatted me up with questions about the game, out of the corner of my eye I caught the other one sitting a little too close to my daughter.
That’s when I figured out why I was being engaged in conversation. The boy sitting next to me was the WINGMAN whose job was to keep my attention focused elsewhere.
My wife says I’m overreacting, that I should get used to the idea of being supplanted soon.
She also points out our daughter is perfectly capable of taking care of herself and doesn’t need her father hovering over her like a black ops helicopter ready to swoop in at the first sign of trouble.
But I’m having a problem with this whole growing up thing.
So I’ve got a plan for the next time we go to a game.
We’ll be sitting so far away we might as well be on Mount Everest.
We’ll be on the visitors side.
Way up in a corner.
We might need binoculars to see what’s going on down on the field, but at least middle school boys will have a trek on their hands if they want to sit next to my daughter.
Game on, kids.