My Reputation As A Dirty Old Man

I have a daughter — let’s say her name is Grendel.

I have another daughter — let’s call this one Broomhilda.

I have a third daughter — but she doesn’t enter into this because she’s off attending a gay pride parade at the beach today. I also have three sons — they’re not involved in this incident either.

I have a wife — her real name is Ginny. She’s deaf and wears a hearing aid — but not always around the house.

That’s the playbill.

Grendel called me last week saying that Broomhilda would be in town from down state this weekend and they wanted to have a cookout at our house Sunday.

Ok.

Grendel said that both she and Broomhilda wanted to introduce me and Ginny to their respective boyfriends. You know, a It’s-Time-To-Meet-My-Parents sort of affair.

Well, yesterday about noon the phone rang.

Ginny answered it but she was not wearing her hearing aid — got that?

At first she though the caller was our neighbor Carol but when she realized it wasn’t Carol, she handed the phone to me saying, “I think it’s Broomhilda”.

I said, “Hi Honey. Are you in town already”.

The woman on the other end said, “Yes, I’m here at the library. Grendel was supposed to meet me here to drive me to the cookout”.

“That’s tomorrow,” I said. “Is your boyfriend with you”?

“I don’t have a boyfriend any more,” she said.

“Oh... I’m sorry you two broke up,” I said.

I proceeded to urge her to come to my house so she could tell me all about it. I mentioned that my wife was not wearing her hearing aid and couldn’t hear us talking. I urged her to come to my house again.

She sounded terribly upset.

She said she did not want to come by the house. She seemed reticent about talking about the situation with her boyfriend.

My dad-genes went to red alert. I perceived that my little girl was disturbed and upset. In my consolatory roll as concerned father I think I addressed her as Sweetheart, Honey, Princess, Darlin’, and maybe even Babydoll.

You know, Dad-Speak used for when my little girl falls off her bike and skins her knee or something.

I suggested that she come to the house to cool off in the pool. “If you don’t have a swimsuit with you, I’m sure we can find something or another around here for you to wear,” I said.

She didn’t want to come to the house.

Her reticence confused me.

What was wrong? This split with the boyfriend must have really hurt.

She came across as so reserved and uncommunicative that I really worried about her.

I tried to comfort her and said if she would come to the house, we’d go out to lunch. I asked her for details about the breakup with her boyfriend. I urged her to come to my house. I offered to come get her and drive her here.

She said she did not want to come to my house.

She said she was going to call Grendel.

These two confide in each other.

She sounded strange and leery.

She hung up abruptly.

I told Ginny all about this odd conversation and we speculated on what could have happened between Broomhilda and her boyfriend. We though they were happy. We though she was bringing him to meet us. This breakup must have happened just last night. She sounded really confused, upset, dismayed.

We speculated that in the split, the boyfriend may have beat her and she was ashamed to come home with a black eye. I began thinking how I might explain to ex-boyfriend that it’s not wise to beat a Christian father’s daughter.

But that was pure speculation.

Ginny and I just could not understand why she didn’t want to come home at my urging.

About thirty minutes later, I called Grendel at work to see if she knew of some explanation…

She did know.

She explained it all right!

How was I to know that she had invited a girl friend — a girl I’d never even heard of before — to attend our cookout also?

How was I to know that there are TWO young women in the world with the same name — Broomhilda?

How was I to know that the one I was talking to was not my daughter but a girl I’d never met or talked to before the phone rang?

My mind ranged back over my conversation with this unknown young lady.

Understand why she got more and more upset the longer we talked?

Ever wonder how I gained my reputation as a dirty old man?