My Daughter’s First F-U Moment

Unlike most young teenage boys, I was sent away to a boarding school when I was 14 years old. It was a Jesuit institution (Campion) located on the threshold of nowhere along the banks of the Mississippi River directly west of Madison, Wisconsin. My father had gone there and loved it. For the most part, I loathed the joint. No cars, no booze, no babes…just five hundred and fifty boys tethered to the pursuits of fighting, studying, abiding authority, playing sports and more fighting. In essence, it was a glorified reform school. Thankfully, however, it was in the midst of a bygone era when students were educated; not indoctrinated.

During summer breaks I worked at a brokerage firm on LaSalle Street in Chicago. A good friend and fellow classmate named Mr. Jim worked up the street at The Board of Trade. We usually met for lunch or skipped lunch and visited a porn theatre. Any port in a storm sort of thing, I guess. On one occasion, as we were walking across Daley Plaza, Jim asked me what kind of job I wanted when I got to the point of having to get a job. For whatever reason, I said “selling cars” had occurred to me. He approved of the idea. “Good money in that,” he replied. So, I asked what he had in mind.

“Not sure,” he said. “All I know is that I want to make money…lots of money”.

“Why?”

“Because then I can say ‘f*** you’ to whoever I want, whenever I feel like it.”

“Hell, I say ‘f*** you’ now to whomever I want whenever I feel like it and I have no money.”

“You just don’t understand my point.”

He was right about that. I didn’t understand his point then and I still don’t.

Jim went on to become fabulously wealthy trading pork bellies or soy beans or whatever at Chicago’s Board of Trade and I’ve spent the last quarter century in Southeast Asia writing books that very few people read. God only knows how many people he’s said “f*** you” to since becoming a double-digit millionaire. As for me…well, being that Thailand & Cambodia are predominately comprised of foreigners who talk funny and don’t take kindly to personal insults from White Westerners, I’ve tried to constrain my outbursts. The vast majority of those outbursts occur while I’m weaving through the mayhem of discourteous road traffic on my motorbike. The motorbike provides a good get-away since writing books that few people read doesn’t provide much of an income to cope with medical expenses. However, be that as it may.

The point of this piece is to commemorate my precious young daughter’s first F-U moment. Bailey was born, fittingly, on April Fools Day in 2015. If my math is correct, that would make her just over three years old. As far as I’m concerned, that’s old enough for the little critter to start manifesting a bit of disciplined behavior. I began with instructing her to put her toys away when she was finished playing with them. Sometimes she does and sometimes she doesn’t. When she doesn’t, I end up doing it. Why a 67 year old man should be obliged to put a 3 year old child’s toys away is beyond me. So, the other day, Bailey was comfortably nestled in an armchair while her toys were scattered around the living room. Four tiny toys were in her tiny hand. I explicitly told her not to drop those toys on the floor. She looked at me mischievously. Repeating the admonition, Bailey held out her hand and dumped the toys on the floor. I was dumbfounded. She could have, at least, waited for me to walk away and then dump the toys on the floor. But, no… she did it right to my face. In other words, she was saying, “Fuck you, Daddy!” I had nothing to say because I was utterly speechless and that, of course, is part of the reason why I had nothing to say.

Retiring to another room to seek solace & advice from my wife who happens to be Bailey’s mother I was told, “Why should you be upset? Your daughter is just like you. Get used to it.”

What a shuddering admonition!

Some years after getting out (I always refer to it as “getting out”; never “graduating”) of that Jesuit joint, I asked my father why he’d sent me there. He replied, “Because I knew you were something of a rebel who would be difficult to discipline. My fear was that if I had to handle you during your early teenage years it might undermine our relationship. I loved you too much to take that chance. So, I turned you over to the Jesuits.”

That made sense to me.

As for what my wife pointed out…well, she’s usually spot-on about important matters but, I pray she’s wrong here. I would much rather have Bailey emulate her mother than her father. Her mother is a much better person. However, since Campion is long gone, where the hell would we send her? Plus, by the time she’s a young recalcitrant teenager, her old man will be too old to exact much discipline upon her anyway. I’ll simply echo my father’s sentiments…I love you too much to undermine our relationship so, let your mother handle you. She’s smarter & more masterful than any Jesuit I ever knew.

And, for what it's worth, f*** you too, you little shit!