I Met Someone

I met someone recently, but I confess that it really wasn’t as exciting as that statement might lead one to believe. I don’t have a new girlfriend or golf buddy, didn’t cross paths with any sort of celebrity. To be honest I don’t remember the guy’s name right now and it wouldn’t surprise me if he didn’t remember mine. There was just a quick handshake and a few moments of awkward small talk. The moment notable only because I find it so damn weird that it hadn’t happened before.

The majority of my neighborhood leans geriatric but as happens these houses are slowly being bought by younger couples and families. When a good friend from school was one of the newer inhabitants my daughter was excited and to an extent so was I. If you know me and have watched the updated version of That 70’s Show on Netflix than you’d probably agree that I have a lot of Red Foreman in me, the prototypical grumpy old man that isn’t really as grumpy as he tries to portray. There’s also a lot of Kitty there. I like it when I have a house full of kids and hope that my daughter and her friends always feel comfortable here. Not comfortable enough to sit in my basement and smoke weed like they do on the show but comfortable enough to hang out upstairs while I’m in the basement.

It also makes me happy that her friend’s parents trust me enough to let that happen. I’ve mentioned recently  that not everyone has the highest opinion of us but I stand by the opinion that it’s their loss. My daughter is fiercely loyal to anyone lucky enough to enter her friend circle and that means that I am as well. Maybe it’s too cheesy for Olive Garden to use as their slogan anymore, but “when you’re here, you’re family.”

It helps to think that I’ve earned that trust, however. Our new neighbor and her little sister have spent a lot of time at my house over the past month. On several occasions I’ve given her a ride home from school. I don’t mind but it’s made me uncomfortable that I’ve never heard from the parents, that I’m taking this kid’s word for it that her parent’s know this is going on.  I’ve given her my phone number to pass along but never heard anything, I’ve been accused of sometimes being a bit overprotective but wouldn’t you at least want to know what I look like?

As the title suggests, I did finally meet the father.  He came looking for his children one afternoon when a dead phone battery prohibited them from telling the girls that it was time to come home for dinner. Once again I offered my number in case a similar situation ever presented itself.

Maybe it’s just me but I think that as parents we spent a lot of time worrying about our kids. By “a lot of time” I actually mean “pretty much all the time.”  The only way that we can remain sane and let them out of our sight is to lie to ourselves and try to pretend that we are doing everything that we can to keep them safe.

Listen, I know that you can’t really judge a person just by shaking their hand and exchanging names. I’ve certainly been fooled by plenty of garbage people over the years. You can, however make sure that they aren’t falling down drunk or hanging around the house in their underwear, at least at that particular moment. We can convince ourselves that our kids seem to be in a relatively OK situation. If these people have cracked the code and found a way to not need that I would love it if this guy I just met would stick around a bit longer next time and tell me his secret.

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Previously Published on thirstydaddy.com and is republished on Medium.

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Photo credit: iStock