A Humorous Guide to Helping Your Daughter Choose a Mate

"wanna beer?" "it's 7 o clock in the moring." ... "scotch?"

Start by being suspicious — of six-year-old boys! If you really want to protect your little sweetie pie from evil-minded males (in other words, normal guys) you have to get an early start. This will give you some time to develop your profiling skills. Assume a “hell no, he’s not right for you” stance — with every boyfriend she ever has. Since most people date lots of losers before they marry, you will be right virtually all the time and thereby enhance your credibility. Good job, mom! Good job, dad!

Ah, but that is only the first step in assuring that your innocent daughter will not make a mistake. What do I mean by a mistake? Well, first of all, that she will have sex — ever. You know, deep down, that you don’t want this to happen. Not at any age. Not if she lives to be 100. Certainly not in your own lifetime.

Nor do you want someone who will disappoint her, break her heart, or live off her hard-earned wages. No, if she must marry (and this is pretty doubtful in your mind) it should be to someone who can earn a good living and put her on a pedestal.

OK, are you serious about protecting your beautiful child? Are you willing to do anything — anything and everything it takes? Then here is a short list of steps to guarantee, if not perpetual virginity, then at least the chance that she will marry a good man (of whom there are only three on the planet):

  • Start by eliminating any guy with an earring, tattoo, or body puncture of any kind. Too harsh? That is the whole point of this! Remember that I said there are only three acceptable guys on the planet. You can’t expect me to make the qualifications too easy, can you?
  • Greet the young man with a chainsaw in your hand (ideally one that is on) and the grim expression of Michael Keaton above (from Mr. Mom).
  • Ask your potential son-in-law to provide you with the results of an IQ test performed by a licensed psychologist. Me! If he scores below the 98th percentile, he is history.
  • He must be willing to submit a complete medical report before arriving for date #2. Results of genetic testing should be included. You need this information so that your future grandchildren have a good chance of being free of imperfection.
  • Require the suitor to provide you with letters of recommendation from at least one person in each of the following categories: a) past girlfriend b) clergyman or woman, preferably the Dalai Lama or the Pope c) employer d) supreme court justice e) someone he saved from a burning building or a speeding bullet. OK, maybe that is a little extreme. So, let’s say at least four of the five categories.
  • Never smile unless it is in a devilish fashion. Give him “the stare.” Hold eye contact until he breaks it off and leaves the house, whimpers, or begins to weep. Practice in the mirror until you look like this:

Bela Lugosi

  • Ask the young man a series of innocent questions such as:

a) “Have you ever given any thought to what it might be like to be waterboarded?”

b) “Define the word ‘abstinence’ and explain what you think about it.”

c) “Other than eyes or hair, what is your favorite female body part and why?” (If he says “feet,” assume that he is a foot-fetishist and throw him out).

d) “What are your goals in life if you grow up?”

  • Be sure to purchase a military arsenal and install it in a special, locked, dungeon-like room in your home. Make certain that you show this to your daughter’s suitor the very first time he comes to pick her up for a date. Diplomas you earned for marksmanship and martial arts should be prominently displayed, with casual references to “some unfortunate disappearances that happened” to your daughter’s previous boyfriends, and how the police were unable to find them. Newspaper accounts of the “disappearances” should be framed and hung on the dungeon’s walls.

Parents have paid me a small fortune for these tips. The techniques have stood the test of time. They can be used by both parents together or by either mom or dad. For a limited time only, they are yours free of charge. Consider yourself lucky.

And lucky that your son didn’t try to date my daughters!

P.S. Since my children each married great guys, that means there is now only one other decent single man available in the world. You might have to make your screening process even tougher than mine!


The bottom photo by Toni Frissell is of Jacqueline Kennedy Throwing the Bouquet at her First Wedding, September 12, 1953. It is sourced from Wikimedia Commons.

A “West Side Story” Story (A.K.A. “The Angry Lady Incident”)


Being the parent of talented children is a tough job.

Especially when they are performing on stage or on the field of play.

You want them to succeed, you hold your breath as they do their stuff, and are delighted and relieved when the show (or the game) is over. You want to find a balance between identifying completely with their performance and being totally indifferent.

You don’t want to pressure them too much or feel like the fate of the free world hangs in the balance, entirely dependent on a flawless effort.

And you try to remember (and remind them to remember) the quotation of a Hall of Fame basketball coach who said, “If every game is a matter of life and death, you’re going to have a problem: you’re going to die a lot.”

Then there is the question of how much encouragement or discouragement you visit upon your child if he actually wants to make a career in the arts or sports given the long odds of actually being able to make a living.

Two stories about that, the first a joke:

Question: What is the difference between a musician and a Domino’s pizza?

Answer: A Domino’s pizza can feed a family of four!

The other story has to do with Leonard Bernstein, who was the composer of West Side Story, not to mention a famous symphony conductor, pianist, and educator.


Sam Bernstein, Lenny’s father, came to the USA from Russia, where musicians were held in low esteem. The musicians Bernstein’s father had encountered in his old country were mostly “klezmers,” itinerant Jews who played at weddings and other celebratory occasions, but had a hard time gaining respect and keeping bread on the table. Thus, when Sam’s oldest son displayed an interest in this “profession,” the elder Bernstein did his best to discourage the young man’s pursuit.

Eventually, his son Leonard became world-famous. And, the story is told that a newspaper reporter asked Sam why it was that he hadn’t encouraged his son in the field of music.

The senior Bernstein answered, “How was I supposed to know he would become Leonard Bernstein!”

Then there is the problem of the audience, of which you are a part; and what people say and do while your child is doing his stuff. We all have heard or witnessed parents and fans who go a bit crazy in opposition to each other over the performance of their eight-year-olds. It is worth remembering what happened on occasion when Jackie Robinson became the first black man in the 20th century to integrate organized baseball.


Before his 1947 debut in the major leagues with the Brooklyn Dodgers, Robinson played one season for the Montreal Royals of the International League. The rudeness and racism recalled by his wife Rachel at the time of the team’s April, 1946 appearance in Baltimore is recounted by Jules Tygiel in Baseball’s Great Experiment: Jackie Robinson and His Legacy:

When Jackie appeared on the field, the man sitting behind her shouted, “Here comes that nigger son of a bitch. Let’s give it to him now.” The Baltimore fans unleashed an unending torrent of abuse. All around her people engaged “in the worst kind of name-calling and attacks on Jackie that I had to sit through.” For one of the few times Rachel feared for Jackie’s physical safety. That night as she cried in her hotel room, Rachel thought that perhaps Jackie should withdraw from the integration venture.


Fortunately, as the proud parent of daughters who have performed, I never had to deal with anything like that. Just the usual twittering, texting, whispering, program rustling, and bracelet jangling, that is the commonly experienced thoughtlessness in auditoriums world-wide.

But on one noteworthy occasion attended by me with my wife, I went beyond an occasional stern look to take on a woman who should have known better than to converse with her neighbor when my youngest child was in a high school production of West Side Story.

The lady was a senior citizen two seats to my right, nicely dressed, who was talking pretty loudly to a friend seated to her right. Because she was turned in her neighbor’s direction most of the time, it was difficult to catch her eye in the hope that “a look” might communicate my wish for her to quiet down. About 20 minutes in to the performance I’d had about enough.

I leaned as far to my right as I could (across the body of my friend Rich who was our guest) and, in one of the few moments when she was looking forward, she noticed me as I said, “Please be quiet!”

It was not said with ferocity, but I’m sure she knew I meant business. And, indeed, she was quieter for the rest of the first half of the performance.

Rich and I had to walk past this woman in the aisle as we began to make our way to the lobby at intermission. To my considerable surprise, as I passed this lady, she actually pushed me into the railing barrier to my left. I turned right to face her.

“Why were you so angry?” she said.

“I wanted to listen to the performance.”

“But I was only talking during the orchestra part, not the singing!” she indignantly continued.

“But I wanted to hear the orchestra. You know, you are not in your living room and this is not TV!”

With that, the encounter ended.

No guns were drawn, no knives displayed, no one put on brass knuckles, and no chains or tire irons were brandished — there was no “rumble” — no example of life imitating art, as in the gang fight that is a central part of the musical we were watching.

And my antagonist and her companion did not return after intermission.

Given that more and more states permit concealed weapons, I suppose I was taking a risk. I can’t recommend that you take on rude audience members, who might retaliate even more forcefully than did the lady in question.

But, it is hard to “tune out” people who create a volume of sound sufficient to compete with the main attraction.

It was another one of those situations in which different people react differently, sometimes dependent on mood, the capacity to tolerate frustration, an evaluation of the importance of the matter, and one’s ability to be assertive or foolhardy — however you happen to label such action.

In the end, I guess I should simply be glad that it wasn’t Baltimore in the 1940s and my adversary didn’t have her own set of family members handy, and a length of rope to hang from the nearest tree.

Rachel Robinson would understand.

The top image is from a 2003 performance of West Side Story given in Brno, Czech Republic by Městské divadlo. It is the work of Jef Kratochvil. The second photo is of Leonard Bernstein in 1945, taken by Fred Palumbo, then a photographer for the World Telegram. The third picture is a 1950 lobby card for The Jackie Robinson Story. The final image is of Rachel Robinson Accepting the Congressional Gold Medal for her husband, deceased baseball star Jackie Robinson on March 2, 2005. From left to right: Nancy Pelosi, President George W. Bush, Mrs. Robinson, and Dennis Hastert. The picture was taken by White House photographer Eric Draper. All photos are sourced from Wikimedia Commons.