My Daughter’s First Date

November 9, 2015 - accent chair

Some lanky high propagandize beginner child with a too-red face who never got a memo on how combs work had that dynamic demeanour in his eye of: “One day I’m going to demeanour like John Cusack,” and knocked on a front doorway to collect adult my daughter for her initial genuine “date.”

I waved to his my-age father sitting in his car, watchful to take them to a beginner dance.

As we shook a kid’s palm and looked in his eyes, we speckled that first-date apprehension festering underneath his goofy, “it’s no vast deal” grin.

We shook hands longer than he was gentle with, and we gave him that demeanour of, “I have no problem going behind to jail again.”

And, out of nowhere, it was as yet that child and we listened a thesis from Gone with a Wind as we incited around to watch my daughter waltzing down a staircase — looking positively stunning.

As she smiled, streamer towards that petrified child — a memory of my initial date was dancing in my head…

It was my beginner year in high school…

Sandy Delaney. God, we was in adore with Sandy Delaney. Stunning. Long black hair. A good shelve for a freshman. And pleasing teeth underneath that handle scaffolding in her mouth.

It was a beginner category homecoming dance. The initial real “date” in my life.

Now, don’t get me wrong. we was experienced. Hell, a initial time we kissed a lady was in second grade. Gail Harkensee. What a babe. Had a Minnesota accent. we liked that in my women. She had on this cute, knee-length black skirt. She was my father’s friend’s kid. They were over visiting, and we usually stared during her all day — and all by dinner. we didn’t speak to here. we unequivocally wasn’t meddlesome in articulate to her. we usually wanted to dream about her.

When their family was streamer out a doorway that night, we asked Gail to follow me. we walked her in a initial building lavatory — as a relatives watched us and waited by a front door. It was a small lavatory hardly vast adequate for a toilet and a sink, so we were many station on tip of any other in there. Gail was looking during me like, “So what do we want?”

I was too shaken to lick her, so we figured, why not. I’ll lick her on a leg.

Somehow, in that moment, it all finished perfect sense. Worked for me. Worked for her, too, we think. She gave me that demeanour like, “Thanks, man.”

I got off a story. we was articulate about Sandy Delaney and my initial “date.”

Asking Sandy Delaney out was no travel in a park. It was an autumn Monday night; reduction than dual weeks before a high school’s Homecoming Dance. If we didn’t ask her that night, we knew she’d get snatched adult by some other beginner clown.

Our beginner ‘pom pom’ cheerleaders. A solar complement out of my league.

I swear to God, we came home after school, went upstairs, and spent a subsequent two hours pacing in front of a second-floor corridor yellow rotary phone meditative about each probable unfolding of how she was going to reject me on that call.

I knew she’d contend no. That was a for-granted. we figured it was like strange sin; we deserved to get no for an answer. we had to call her up, take it like a man, and be finished with it.

Come ruin or high water, we was calling that lady that night.

I didn’t caring that she was improved than me in each proceed a tellurian being could be improved than you. She was Athena. we was spam.

It was roughly 6 p.m. and about time for a brisket of beef family dinner. We had brisket of beef each night. Except Fridays, of course. That was fish sticks night.

I looked during a time in a lavatory and motionless I’m pulling a trigger. I’m walking to that phone, I’m dialing that number.

And that’s exactly what we did.

Then a many terrible thing happened. Sandy answered a phone. It was all function too fast; it was surreal.

I said, “Sandy?” She said, “Yes.” And afterwards a impossible happened. My mother, out of positively nowhere, comes resounding adult a staircase with her new Hoover runner cleaner. It sounded like a helicopter was rising adult a stairs.

I screamed in a phone, “It’s Jimmy Dunne.”

Who?” “Jimmy Dunne.”


“Do we wish to go to a Homecoming Dance with me?”


“Jimmy Dunne. From school. Next to your locker.”


I couldn’t tell what she pronounced with a 747 alighting in my other ear.

“Did we say, “Okay,” or, “No way?”

“I said, ‘Okay.'”

I never suspicion that she competence contend that. we didn’t elaborate on how many fun we suspicion we’d have, or where we could go to dinner, or who else we listened was going.

I usually hung up.

I didn’t even endorse we listened her. we usually hung adult a damn phone since we didn’t know what to contend after she said, “Okay.”

To retaliate myself, we walked down those stairs and slugged down 4 times my normal subsidy of greasy brisket of beef.

Here’s what a list looked like. I’m certain that night we usually finished some excellent brisket of beef. I’m not certain since my hermit is indicating a gun during a birthday lady while she’s floating out her cake. And we don’t know what’s wrong with my comparison sister. Maybe she was still gagging on some of her meat.

Cut to a subsequent morning.

I got on my propagandize bus, got dumped off during school, and walked adult to my propagandize locker.

With her name being Delaney and cavern being Dunne, her locker was literally right subsequent to mine. She was station there holding her books out and smiled during me like we was her horseman or something.

I didn’t know what to contend to her. What am we gonna say, “Hey, we and me during a dance in a week and a half!” So we motionless to do a subsequent best thing. we simulated she wasn’t there. we didn’t contend anything.


She was all confused. In a moment, we could live with that.

Since that was my proceed a initial day, we figured I’d be consistent. we did that every day. So we never talked to her. Never even looked over during her. She contingency have suspicion we was Norman Bates.

A week and a half of locker woe went by, and it was unexpected Friday; a night of a Homecoming Dance. Like every morning, we walked adult to a lockers.

But this morning she was station there great her eyes out. we suspicion maybe somebody slugged her.

I said, “What’s a matter, Sandy? Did some lady strike you?”

Balling, she said, “No. The many horrible thing happened. Somebody called me dual weeks ago, and he pronounced he was you, and he asked me to a dance.”

I didn’t know what to say. we said, “That was me.” She gave me a demeanour like, “Oh, my God. I’m going to a dance with Barney.”

Being a supportive man we am, we pronounced a usually thing that seemed suitable in that moment.

“So, are we going?”

“Yes, we’re going,” she half-yelled/half-cried during me.

So, dressed in my one-and-only flame-retardant too-bright-blue fit and tie, along with a boutonniere for Sandy that my mom picked adult during Fay Flowers, we anxiously sat in a behind of my father’s yellow Ford Thunderbird — as we criss-crossed by a town’s tree-lined suburban streets to Sandy’s house.

Everything went uniformly until picture-taking time in Sandy’s kitchen. With her relatives clicking and flashing divided and her younger brother, Eddie, snickering nearby, we was posing subsequent to Sandy when we listened this groan right behind me entrance from a kitchen closet.

I didn’t quite confuse me. In a residence with 7 kids and God usually knows what animals-of-the month, we understanding with crap like that.

But to Sandy, a groan was like carrying a zit a distance of a walnut on her nose. She snapped around fluttering her boutonniere in her palm — yelling during a cupboard door. “Get out. Just get out. He knows you’re in there.”

I didn’t know what a ruin she was articulate about.

The cupboard doorway opened, and really brief grandma sheepishly meandered out — and proudly introduced herself to me like it finished perfect sense she was stealing in a kitchen closet.

Off to a dance we went. The dance was a square of cake. You usually walked around a propagandize gym dance building in a vast round like it was a drum course with all a other beginner lemmings. Up on a theatre was a jazz combo of bellied, prime Chicago-area musicians in grey-blue polyester tuxes personification poignant tunes like “Tie a Yellow Ribbon ‘Round an Old Oak Tree.”

My father picked Sandy and me adult from a dance, and forsaken us during a subsequent theatre of a journey.

The “Oakbrook”; an “adult” grill in a subsequent city over. When we contend “adult” restaurant, we meant that it was a dark, really dim grill where they offer steaks with things like vegetables on a side. Not a common 29-cent Cock Robin hamburgers transport we was accustomed to.

As we entered a swanky place, an instrumental, conveyor chronicle of “Sunny” seeped lovingly over a speakers that were tucked behind a plants.

This is where things started to get ugly. See, I’ve got this small problem that we didn’t consider about when we chose “The Oakbrook.”

I’m night blind. we meant I’m really night blind. When we travel in a dim place, it takes me like an hour before we can see my possess hands.

I might have been sitting opposite from her in that restaurant, yet she could have been a goat in that chair and we wouldn’t have famous a difference.

Not assisting a conditions was a waiter. A college-aged man with a thick, Argentine accent and long, curly, brownish-red hair who suspicion he was Ilie Nastasi came adult to a table, and finished it ideally transparent to Sandy that his dick was longer and thicker than my leg.

Sandy and we staid into some good “adult” conversation. we was feeling flattering good about how things were going, other than we was looking opposite a list into a Milky Way. While we was yapping — we usually illusory her in her flattering creamy dress, vast beginner breasts, and her almost high-heeled boots with her pink-polished toes adhering out a front.

Here’s what Sandy looked like to me sitting opposite a table.

I systematic a New York steak. we certain as ruin couldn’t review a menu in a dark, and we figured that had to be on there in a grand corner like this.

I have to behind adult for a second. Coming from a family of 7 kids, we ate what was on your plate. In my family, we didn’t leave a list until we were a member of a “Clean Plate Club.” To this day, we still consider there indeed is a “Clean Plate Club,” and I, unfortunately, have warranted “life-long member” status.

In a residence flourishing up, if we had beef on your plate, we ate it. Fat/no fat, gristle/no gristle — it was going down a hatch. Or we weren’t removing up.

To this day, we can’t watch “Fear Factor” type-shows yet flashbacks of my hermit Terry and we sitting there a half hour after everybody else left a list nipping on some nasty-ass square of rubber weep devising we were downing live 17-year locusts.

Back to Sandy. When a food showed up, we cut my New York beef with my beef knife, and stranded a vast honking square of it in my mouth. Whoops. At slightest that’s what we suspicion it was when we cut it. It was a glob of fat a distance of a ping pong ball. While we looked during Sandy with a laugh on my face, in my mind we was nipping on an eye.

I had a plan. we nonchalantly put my napkin to my face like we was patting my cheeks, and separate a hunk of weep in my napkin. As we continued to discuss away, we positioned a napkin underneath a list and dumped a grizzly justification on a plush carpet. Problem solved.

The devise would have worked perfectly, yet it landed on Sandy’s unprotected toes. Sandy pulled behind from her chair. we asked her what was wrong. Trying to be calm, she pronounced something a distance of a rodent usually ran over her right foot.

Next thing we know that Ilie Nastasi wanna-be had his greasy, mop-top conduct underneath a list looking around for animals and substantially adult her skirt.

He took his conduct out, flung a hair out of his eyes, and dumped a round of chewed fat on my plate. Looking true during me, he smiled with his Argentine accent, “Here’s your rat.”

Just to retaliate myself, we became a member of a “Clean Plate Club,” and gobbled down each square of grizzle on my plate.

We walked out of a restaurant, and there was my smiling, Irish father watchful for us in his Ford Thunderbird.

Even yet my father kept yacking it adult all a proceed to Sandy’s house, we didn’t hear a word. All we was meditative about was her front door.

Her front door. The final frontier.

I was going to travel her to that door, and we was going to lick her. It was going to be like no other fun we had gifted in my life.

In usually a few moments my lips would be touching hers, my physique would be pulpy opposite her unusual chest… what some-more in life could a beginner presumably want.

I was usually sitting in that automobile usually imagining… And then, in a center of that dream, my dad’s voice would hide in, and, like a pitchfork in a behind of my neck from a bad slasher movie, I’d suspect my father stretching his conduct like an ostrich out a driver’s chair window saying if his child was scoring some putang during her front door.

When guys speak about a feeling of being in a craft 40,000 feet off a ground, prepared to parachute out for a initial time with positively no idea to life if or where they’ll land – that’s how we felt.

That’s what we was traffic with in that behind chair of that Thunderbird usually blocks from her residence — with Sandy, smelling like a fragrance of lilacs, smiling usually inches away.

As my father pulled adult to a quell in front of her house, he said, “I’m in no hurry. Take your time.” That was brief for, “I’m going to be shouting my donkey off examination we try to make out with this girl.”

We walked, palm in hand, towards her brightly illuminated front door. we felt like a Cowardly Lion streamer down a daunting corridor to understanding with a Wizard of Oz. The front porch forward of me looked like a lit-up stage; positively guaranteed to give my father a good belly-laugh in a cheap-seats.

Then a spectacle happened. She took my palm and finished a right turn. Around a residence to her behind door. My certainty shot by a roof; she clearly wanted some action.

As we walked along a side of her house, she literally had to lift my palm like we was a blind person. we couldn’t see a feet in front of me.

I kind of tripped adult a behind stair, and, suddenly, there we was, station there holding her palm – looking right during her.

The impulse of truth. Except we wasn’t looking during her; we might have good been looking in a black cave. we knew her face was there since she was holding both my hands. With each flitting second, my hands were branch into tellurian H2O faucets.

Rather than usually squeeze her and lay one on her, we stood there babbling usually to stall. But we knew a doorway of a craft usually non-stop — and it was time to jump.

I pronounced something positively shining and regretful like, “Well, see ya later, alligator,” and leaned in to lick her lips. Unfortunately, we missed her lips. we was kissing something, yet it certain wasn’t her lips. After a second it strike me we was roaming on her right ear. Not being an consultant on what lips tasted or felt like, in that impulse of truth, we suspicion maybe it was her lips. Rather than adjust, we usually kind of made-out with her right ear.

And afterwards we usually left. No “goodbye.” No “I had a good time.” we usually left.

I don’t know what was worse. Falling on my face after we tripped over a rubbish can on a side of her house, or traffic with my dad’s shit-eating laugh during a automobile seeking me how it went with a “thumbs up/thumbs down.”

Kindly, my father didn’t contend a word in a car. We usually gathering home in a silence. It’s indeed a impulse I’ll never forget with my dad.

And there we sat alone in that behind seat, vouchsafing my mind drift. Seven or 8 tree-lined blocks later, we forgot about my humiliation, and was seeing her lilac smell on my clothes, and reminiscing that unusual impulse of her wanting to lead me to her behind door…

That’s a prolonged story to a 5-second middle-age flashback that danced by my conduct as we watched my overwhelming daughter and that lanky child conduct out a front doorway to their dance.

I suspect it’s one of those reward gifts your kids give we — arrange of nature’s answer to a Tivo machine. Moments in their lives that lift we behind to moments we suspicion we forgot. Moments that remind we how fragile, and frightening, and exciting, and regretful — and pleasing life is.

I theory that child forgot to open a automobile doorway for my daughter as he hopped in initial to a behind chair of his dad’s automobile on a curb.

As they gathering away, that child looked behind during me by a automobile behind window. we kindly waved as we suspicion to myself, “Good luck, schmuck.”

— Yours,
Jimmy Dunne.

(From days left by…)

Jimmy Dunne’s songs have been available on 28,000,000 annals worldwide; along with scores, songs, and themes in over 1,500 radio episodes and dozens of underline films – along with many dozens of gold, gold and multi-platinum annals around a world.

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