“Be good to her. She’s rare.” ~r.h. Sin
My daughter is exceptionally beautiful. I’m not just saying this because I’m her mom. She is fourteen years old and she turns heads everywhere she goes. People always tell me that she should be a model. I’m not saying this to brag. I’m saying this because it is terrifying to have a fourteen year old daughter who walks in front of me at the grocery store while creepy old men walk by, staring her up and down like a piece of meat. They don’t even notice the madness in my eyes while they are so obviously drooling over the little girl that I have nurtured and protected since she was a seed in my belly. I could dig their eyes right out of their fucking heads with my bare hands.
She met a boy last weekend while we were on vacation. He won’t stop sending her pictures of her name drawn in the sand with hearts around it. I like that boy, he is her own age and lives miles away from us. I don’t like the soon-to-be eighteen year old boy who keeps inviting her out for dates. She thinks he’s hot AF, as she and her friends describe him. I want to grab an ax and go all Paul Bunyan on the pedestal these girls have placed him on. He looks like a complete douche to me, and I think he should find a girl his own age.
I’ve done my best to educate her on soon-to-be eighteen year old boys and their intentions. I’ve tried to encourage her to love herself so fiercely, that any guy would have to prove himself undeniably for a piece of her heart. But she’s fourteen and full of hormones and hungry for life experience.
I was a fourteen year old girl too. I get it, I do. But I can’t help but to realize that my grip on her is fading. Every passing day, she is less mine and more her own. I’m learning how to replace leading her with guiding her. And it’s so fucking hard, but I know that she will be grown and gone in the blink of an eye.
She’s completely oblivious to the creepy old men. Her eyes are fixed on their sons. And I want so badly for her eyes to be fixed on her own dreams. I want her to fight vigorously for a future that suits her, one where she lives happily with all of her greatest aspirations attained.
I see pieces of myself in her, and it scares the hell out of me. I always took the wrong roads, the hard roads. I want so badly for her to hear my voice, to see my fingers, pointing her into the direction of least resistance. But she is my daughter and her will to make her own road is unwavering.
It’s an odd thing, giving precious life to a child and watching them take it into their own hands. I needed more time. I will always need more time.
I ended my fling with the drug dealer today. It wasn’t easy to walk away from someone who literally woke me up after a passionless slumber of three years. But it was the right thing to do. We were a fish and a bird. Two different worlds that could never merge into one, and I am a girl who will conjure up feelings for anyone who sticks around long enough. So I gave him a respectable goodbye text. It was short and sweet. He responded by letting me know that his door is always open.
The challenge now is for me to stay the hell away from that door, no matter how enticing it may be.
I’m proud of myself for not falling down another rabbit hole. I stepped into it, wandered around a bit, admired the scenery, and then climbed back out into my own world. This emotionally detached life is not an easy one, but it certainly can be adventurous. And I think I have finally figured out how to appreciate the adventure.
I’m going to miss him.
I grew up with extreme parents. They tried, with everything they had, to keep me on a short leash. I have never been one to submit to authority.
I have tried. I was extremely devoted in my marriage. I tried my best to be domesticated, but there’s a monster inside of me that freaks the fuck out when my life falls into the mundane. I crave excitement. I have to push boundaries. I get restless for adventure. I need to break rules.
This is precisely why I have always had commitment issues. I’ve tried to settle down with the good guys, I’ve tried to stick with the straight and narrow. But after so long, my inner monster wants to get out and mingle with the dark side.
I spent last weekend with the drug dealer from my previous post. He isn’t a bad guy, in fact he is very sweet and has kind of a nerdy side. He tells me stories of a domesticated past that once held him captive. But to my family, he is forbidden because of his race. And his phone was ringing constantly with disappointed customers looking for a fix while he was out of town visiting me.
This is not a guy who I should be sharing my time with. But my inner monster is completely enthralled with the rebellion of sleeping with a guy who doesn’t fit into my world at all.
My good side, the part of me that always sees the best in people, had a good time too. I enjoyed the excitement on his face, as we drove past a deer grazing on the riverside with the sunset falling behind us. He was like a little kid watching the storms roll in on the wide open farm fields. His eyes lit up with every stroke of lightning that blasted across the black sky. And the sex was just as amazing as the last time.
Is it really better to settle down with weekend shopping trips to Home Depot and arguing about the household chores? Is this truly how we should be spending the little time we have here…chaining ourselves to the picket fence and a golden retriever? That’s the American dream, not mine. I’m quite content to immerse myself into wild little flings with men who understand my monsters, because they have them too. And now that he’s gone back to the city, I can handle the monotony of my 9 to 5 and running the kids around to dentist appointments and cheerleading tryouts. I am in love with the contrast of my life.