Giving A Fuck When It's Not Your Turn To Give A Fuck

As the father of a teenaged daughter I fully understand how I've entered into a new realm, as far as fatherhood is concerned. And teenage love, for that matter. If there was any idea in my mind of this not being the case, such belief was quickly enforced during a recent occurence involving Christina and I.

Earlier this year Salento, my daughter's ex-boyfriend, somehow landed behind bars. No sooner than he got his hands on a stamp and envelope, he wrote asking if she'd please send a money order. Of course Salento had found himself in a similar predicament last year as her boyfriend and, trying to remain loyal, Christina purchased more than a few money orders and promptly mailed each to his inmate account.

All this, before Salento was eventually released and broke her heart.

                            

Last week, I watched as she quietly read a letter and I could tell by the look of gloom badly disguised on her face that its content made her feel uncomfortable.

"Bad news?" I asked.

"Salento's in jail again. Nothing serious," she replied, eyes still reading. "Begging for money, as usual."

"I thought y'all were finished."

"We are. We're still friends."

"Just say no," I suggested, knowing the expression itself wasn't as easy.

She then expressed how the friendship would become strained, if she declined or acted as though she never received any letter.

Since her age dictated that I could no longer give a direct order without taking her feelings into consideration, I figured it's best to ease around the back door and allow the truth to catch her by surprise. Not wanting to insult her intelligence, I knew front door entrance was a thing of the past.

She'd see me coming a mile away.

In other words, teenagers hardly believe an answer to be the answer simply because adults claimed as the answer. So I asked, "How much do you suppose your friendship cost?"

"What do you mean?" she frowned. "My friendship cannot be bought."

Once the same age myself I understood the truth arrives better experienced. If anything like her father, and unfortunately she is, Christina would definitely have to learn the hard way. Besides, teens are least likely to open up and allow parents such privilege into their private and cluttered lives. Each feels like they can make their own decisions, live their own life.

Truth be told, Christina's relationship is a subject I'd rather avoid, completely. Either that, or point her in the direction of her mother. Every time. No father entertains the thought of his innocent little girl being involved with not-so-innocent, testosterone-driven boys.

So, anyway, a couple weeks later, while secretly monitoring her seemingly tell-all Facebook page, as I usually do, I had all but forgotten about the conversation regarding Salento. Until, as fate would have it, I read a particular statement on her wall.

It read: Daddy is right. There is no price tag on true friendship.

Days later, while dropping Christina off at her afterschool job, I revisited the previous conversation. "Any more jailhouse letters from your soulmate?"

She nodded, appearing relunctant to discuss the matter. "Daddy, I should've never mailed him a money order. I wrote that it would be the last time and now he's writing, talking all crazy, saying I'm not a real friend and that I never loved him in the first place."

"Trying to make you feel guilty," I added.

"Yep. But I know what the truth is," she shrugged.

"Babygirl, you have your entire life ahead of you. You will come across many more users like Salento along the way," I said aloud. "It's better you know now."

Christina agreed.