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Sleepover request sparks dad's protective side

By Kelli Robinson | Statesville R&L

Published: March 19, 2009

Last week my daughter asked her friend to stay for a sleepover. I guess she feels ready to take her playdates to the next level now that she's turned the big "0-4." I nixed the idea. Nevermind that 4 seems too young for sleepovers — her friend is a boy.

My husband keeps a baseball bat in the attic that he inherited from my dad. It's the one my dad kept by the front door to scare off potential suitors when my sister and I were growing up. Two suitors slipped past the bat, became sons-in-law, and are now fathers to his grandchildren, two of whom are girls. My dad doesn't mince words when warning about the trials and tribulations of raising daughters.

I've been the daughter. The one so excited about her first dance, first date, first kiss. The one so worried the boy wouldn't call. On the other side of the fence was my dad. The one so concerned about the first dance, first date, first kiss. The one so worried that the boy would call. I never saw these firsts through my dad's eyes until I married a boy who became a father to a daughter.

So what does a father do when his daughter initiates the co-ed sleepover? What's the appropriate reaction to his daughter dancing with a classmate at her brother's Valentine's Day dance?

He does what any father would do. Repeats "are you kidding me?" upon hearing the sleepover request. Growls silently from the gym sidelines at the preschool friend she is dancing with. Rubs his face, shakes his head, and then remembers she is only 4.

Playgrounds are full of children giggling and whispering about boyfriends and girlfriends. I've lost count of how many kids in my son's kindergarten class are betrothed to each other. Some will say the elementary engagements exemplify society's decline. I say if you think this is a new phenomenon, think again. I remember giggling and whispering at recess about the opposite sex. So do you.

My dad started taking batting practice when the doorbell began ringing for my sister and I in our teenage years. But the bat rests for now, ironically next to a trunk that contains, among other items, our wedding album.

When my husband starts visiting the batting cages, it will be because he's warming up for a new baseball league. Or the doorbell rang. And his daughter is no longer 4.