Losing coolness factor is first sign that your little girl is growing up
By Burton W. Cole
It was one of those touching milestones that signals to a father that his little girl is growing up.
I embarrassed her.
It happened one morning nearly 30 years ago on a day that I worked the afternoon shift. I fumbled into the sweat pants splattered in paint, motor oil, dog prints and an odor I couldn’t place. I paired this style choice with the long-sleeved thermal undershirt I’d worn nearly daily for three or four winters, and sweat socks that I’m pretty sure matched. I didn’t bother shaving (I didn’t have a beard then; maybe this was the day I started one).
Then I set about making sure both kids were cleaned, fed and dressed for school, and that my wife had whatever she needed gathered up for work. I intended to tackle Things That Needed Done Around the House — starting with testing the couch cushions and pillows to make sure they still worked — as soon as I could get everyone out the door and out of my uncombed hair.
Just before they left, I remembered that the refrigerator repairman was due that morning.
Melissa eyed me with a 9-year-old’s critical appraisal.
“You are going to change, aren’t you,” she said. It wasn’t a question.
“It’s a repair GUY,” I said. “He won’t notice or care what I’m wearing.”
“What if his kids go to my school? He’ll tell them, they’ll tell all their friends, and all the school will laugh at me.” Her eyes hardened. “You’d better get your shower now.”
A tear welled up in my eye. A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. My little girl was growing up. The way I looked was officially an embarrassment to her.
Daddy, like the refrigerator, was no longer cool.
I knew it wouldn’t be much longer before she demanded that we, her parents, walk 10 feet in front of her in public and not speak to her when her friends are around because we’ll say something totally stupid, she just knows it.
Next, she’d have us telling everyone that were aliens from Jupiter and only arrived on this planet four days ago. And no, thank you for asking, but we’d never seen that very cool, awesome girl — Missy, I believe you said her name is — before in our lives.
Joshua is two years younger than his sister and not yet offended by points of style. Like me, he wears what feels good, even if Mommy says the colors don’t match — which also is like me.
But we boys are not without our moments of style. Watching a football game together, I said, “Hey, let’s shave our heads bald and grow goatees!”
Josh nodded enthusiastic approval.
From across the room, Melissa — I mean, Missy — hissed, “Daa-aad!” in that way we citizens of Jupiter have learned that Earth creatures do.
Still, I didn’t want my daughter (sorry, kid, you can deny it but you’re stuck with us) to suffer a traumatic childhood. So that morning, I gave up my nap to attempt to shower away my uncoolness factor.
The refrigerator repairman came early. Missy would have been mortified. I was not wearing one of our better bath towels when I answered the door.
If the color or style bothered the repair guy, he was gracious enough to not notice. I pointed him to the kitchen, then dived back into the bathroom. I pulled on those same sweatpants, thermal undershirt and socks and hoped no one would rat me out.
Only the refrigerator would ever be cool again
Cole was inexplicably turned down as a model. Chill with him at burton.w.cole@gmail.com, the Burton W. Cole page on Facebook or www.burtonwcole.com.