There was a time, about a quarter of a century ago, when I thought that living with two teenage girls would be somewhere around Cloud 9, or at least 7.5. (I am presently forty-three years old you do the math.) Needless to say, this notion was based on absolutely no firsthand information.

Of course, here in 1996, it's happening, though not at all the way I might have fantasized back then, inasmuch as one of the girls in question is my actual biological daughter, and the other holds Significant Other status. (In a more rational society than this one, these two would be married off and out of my thinning hair, but that's another issue). More irritating, said daughter, apart from a couple extra holes in her ears and minor stuff like that, is, to my consternation, basically the very same long-legged brunette I was dreaming about and/or yearning for during the late Sixties, which points up the necessity of being very specific about even the most picayune details when begging boons from the gods.

Anyway, they're in and out of my life for the rest of the fall while they try to set up a home of their own. (Current target date is the sixteenth of December.) And while it's had its drawbacks I can't sprawl in my birthday suit on the sofa with the Sunday news, at least not without groans of "Eeewwwwww, gross!" objectively it's not been that horrible an experience, and it did give me a shot at refuting that old stereotype about how Dad hates everyone his daughter dates on general principle.

And one more life lesson has presented itself as part of the bargain. The main reason these two struck out on their own and moved in on my turf, two states away from their established homes, was that, once out of their respective closets, they met with rejection and hostility; they could only hope that I would be at least grudgingly accepting. I'd like to think I did a fairly good job of it. And on the old homefront, the prevailing thought now seems to be "Geez, I had no idea they were actually serious." To me, this sounds like a move in the right direction.

Only one question remains now: What happens when her younger brother goes through his inevitable adolescent crisis? Stay tuned.

The Vent

30 November 1996

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 Copyright © 1996 by Charles G. Hill