Thursday, March 20, 2008
Am I A Bad Dad?
While awaiting Maribel’s first tournament game, I’d like to relate to you a story that I alluded to in my last post. This has been a dream season for Maribel, one that most people, like her proud but sometimes jealous father, only have in their active fantasy life (imagine an imaginary spanko having a fantasy life). However, due to some poor judgment, Maribel almost was not allowed to play this year.
Our story starts on a Saturday morning just before Maribel’s university began classes for the fall semester. I received a phone call as I was reading the paper and enjoying a nice cup of Keemun tea. I picked up the phone and, before I could even say hello, I heard Maribel screaming, “Daddy! I got KICKED OFF THE BASKETBALL TEAM!”
Once I got Maribel calmed down, I called Angela over, put Maribel on a speakerphone in my office, and ascertained the details. Apparently, the previous evening, Maribel and several teammates, as well as a few of their friends, had paid a visit to a local pizza and beer establishment that was popular with campus students, professors, and administrators. They did not stay late, and they did not behave untoward, but they did consume plenty of beer. Unfortunately, a couple of the players, and a some of their friends, were under the established drinking age, and it was clear that Maribel was facilitating the beverage purchases.
Word of this got back to Maribel’s coach. Her coach is a fine woman, but is insistent that her rules be followed. She summoned Maribel and the other over-21 players that attended the party, and told them, that they had been suspended indefinitely from the team until the coach had a chance to consider the overall consequences of the situation. Maribel began to plead her case, but her coach was not to be swayed.
Now, Maribel is a fine, mature, considerate, intelligent, talented young woman. However, she also inherited from her mother and father a volcanic temper. She is difficult to anger, but when she blows, it is best for all within several square miles to take cover.
Maribel screamed, She hollered. She flailed her arms. And, when she at last left her coaches office, she knocked over two chairs and a shelf. Needless to say, her coach was not inclined to change her mind after Maribel’s performance.
I wanted to make sure that Maribel did not destroy any more furniture, so I climbed into my car and made the 150-mile drive to her school. Before finding my recalcitrant daughter, though, I first went to visit her coach. I found Coach E., as she is affectionately known, still in her office. She was not happy. I told her that I was not there to get Maribel reinstated, but to instead to find out the coach’s point-of-view and to talk with my eldest.
Coach E. and I talked for a while. In Maribel’s four years at the school, she and I have become friends. She is an excellent and knowledgeable coach, and I am a dedicated fan of basketball and whatever team Maribel plays for. I completely understood Coach E.’s viewpoint. I also know Maribel, though, and I was afraid that if she was not allowed to play during her senior year, it would have a drastic and unfavorable effect on her life.
I did not try to change Coach E.’s mind. But at the end of our talk, I asked her, “Do you trust me?”
“Well,” she responded, confused. “Yes, I guess, Why do you ask?”
“I have a proposal for you. Maribel is my daughter, and, more than anyone else, she is accountable to her mother and me. I’m going over now to talk to her, to discuss the situation with her. With your permission, I’d like the sole authority to deal with this matter.”
Coach E. was somewhat skeptical. “How do you plan to deal with it?” she asked.
“Here is where I need you to trust me. I’d prefer that I can deal with this as a family matter, between Maribel and myself. It is very important to me, as it is to you, that Maribel understand what she did wrong and why, and that she take responsibility for her actions. As her father, I think that her mother and I can best determine when she does. If she does not, she does not deserve to play.
“Give me a few days, and I will call you. If I tell you that the matter is dealt with, then I’m asking you to reinstate Maribel and her teammates with no further questions. If you feel that she needs to be accountable to her team, I understand that, but you need not discuss that with me. If, however, I feel that Maribel has not been properly humbled, then I will defer to you and you may take whatever discipline that you feel is appropriate. If that means that she can no longer play basketball, so be it.”
Coach E. thought for a long time. At last she looked at me and said, “Okay. I trust you. If you say that the situation is resolved, it is resolved.”
Coach E. and I chatted for a few more minutes, and then I went in search of my daughter. I found her on the basketball court behind her residence hall, shooting around with her boyfriend. Maribel was not so much shooting as cussing, using some terms that even I, in my imaginary worldliness, have never heard.
Maribel and I talked for a bit, and then I sent her up to her room. I then went to talk to the boyfriend.
“Son,” I said, as, to this day, I cannot remember his name, “I’d like you to take care of the situation, please. Do you understand what I am saying?”
The boyfriend somberly looked me in the eye. “Yes, sir, I do,” was all he said. I think it is so cute that he calls me “sir.” However, he knows that I know that he’s sleeping with my daughter, and if he wants to keep the appendage that allows him to do that it is best that he gives me the appropriate amount of respect.
The two of us went up to Maribel’s room, and found her there, stewing. I told her to concentrate on her classes and work the anger out of her system, and that I would talk to her coach in a few days. Then I bid her farewell, got back into my car, and drove back home.
Two days later, the boyfriend called me. “It’s been taken care of,” he told me.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Yes, sir, I’m positive.”
The next morning, I called Coach E. “The situation has been dealt with to my satisfaction,” I told her.
“Thank-you, Frank,” she answered. “I might let Maribel twist for a couple of more days, but she’s back on the team.”
So what transpired between Maribel and her boyfriend that that convinced me that Maribel had learned her lesson and was fit to resume her spot on the basketball team? The truth is that I do not know.
However, I have a pretty strong suspicion.
I suspect that Maribel’s boyfriend gave her a good, long, hard, painful spanking on her bare butt with a hairbrush or paddle, or perhaps with his belt.
I know, and I have previously communicated to you, that Maribel is a spanko, like her parents. In addition, I have previously sensed that there is some unspoken communication that occurs between the boyfriend and myself. When I told him to “take care of the situation,” that was spanko code that I was leaving it to his discretion whether Maribel needed a spanking, and, if so, how and when to deliver it. I could tell by the look in his eye and the tone of his voice that he had received the message. When he called to inform me that the situation had been dealt with, I could tell that Maribel had been appropriately chastised, and the matter could now be put into the past.
Does it make me a bad father to ask my boyfriend-in-law, no matter how indirectly, to give my daughter a spanking. I’ll let others be the judge. Perhaps in a different family. However, we are Spankos. I would not consider a similar chastisement for my younger daughter. I would not suggest it for anyone else on her team. But knowing Maribel as I do, I thought that this was the best way to get everyone concerned to move forward.
Maribel was reinstated. Coach E. made no further mention of the incident, although the miscreant players, including Maribel, did have to pick up towels and chase down errant balls in practice for a few days. The season has gone well. Maribel has played fabulously. And there has been no further trouble. It appears that everything has turned out satisfactorily.
You probably thought I was going to say fantastic. I’ll save that for when they win the championship.
Our story starts on a Saturday morning just before Maribel’s university began classes for the fall semester. I received a phone call as I was reading the paper and enjoying a nice cup of Keemun tea. I picked up the phone and, before I could even say hello, I heard Maribel screaming, “Daddy! I got KICKED OFF THE BASKETBALL TEAM!”
Once I got Maribel calmed down, I called Angela over, put Maribel on a speakerphone in my office, and ascertained the details. Apparently, the previous evening, Maribel and several teammates, as well as a few of their friends, had paid a visit to a local pizza and beer establishment that was popular with campus students, professors, and administrators. They did not stay late, and they did not behave untoward, but they did consume plenty of beer. Unfortunately, a couple of the players, and a some of their friends, were under the established drinking age, and it was clear that Maribel was facilitating the beverage purchases.
Word of this got back to Maribel’s coach. Her coach is a fine woman, but is insistent that her rules be followed. She summoned Maribel and the other over-21 players that attended the party, and told them, that they had been suspended indefinitely from the team until the coach had a chance to consider the overall consequences of the situation. Maribel began to plead her case, but her coach was not to be swayed.
Now, Maribel is a fine, mature, considerate, intelligent, talented young woman. However, she also inherited from her mother and father a volcanic temper. She is difficult to anger, but when she blows, it is best for all within several square miles to take cover.
Maribel screamed, She hollered. She flailed her arms. And, when she at last left her coaches office, she knocked over two chairs and a shelf. Needless to say, her coach was not inclined to change her mind after Maribel’s performance.
I wanted to make sure that Maribel did not destroy any more furniture, so I climbed into my car and made the 150-mile drive to her school. Before finding my recalcitrant daughter, though, I first went to visit her coach. I found Coach E., as she is affectionately known, still in her office. She was not happy. I told her that I was not there to get Maribel reinstated, but to instead to find out the coach’s point-of-view and to talk with my eldest.
Coach E. and I talked for a while. In Maribel’s four years at the school, she and I have become friends. She is an excellent and knowledgeable coach, and I am a dedicated fan of basketball and whatever team Maribel plays for. I completely understood Coach E.’s viewpoint. I also know Maribel, though, and I was afraid that if she was not allowed to play during her senior year, it would have a drastic and unfavorable effect on her life.
I did not try to change Coach E.’s mind. But at the end of our talk, I asked her, “Do you trust me?”
“Well,” she responded, confused. “Yes, I guess, Why do you ask?”
“I have a proposal for you. Maribel is my daughter, and, more than anyone else, she is accountable to her mother and me. I’m going over now to talk to her, to discuss the situation with her. With your permission, I’d like the sole authority to deal with this matter.”
Coach E. was somewhat skeptical. “How do you plan to deal with it?” she asked.
“Here is where I need you to trust me. I’d prefer that I can deal with this as a family matter, between Maribel and myself. It is very important to me, as it is to you, that Maribel understand what she did wrong and why, and that she take responsibility for her actions. As her father, I think that her mother and I can best determine when she does. If she does not, she does not deserve to play.
“Give me a few days, and I will call you. If I tell you that the matter is dealt with, then I’m asking you to reinstate Maribel and her teammates with no further questions. If you feel that she needs to be accountable to her team, I understand that, but you need not discuss that with me. If, however, I feel that Maribel has not been properly humbled, then I will defer to you and you may take whatever discipline that you feel is appropriate. If that means that she can no longer play basketball, so be it.”
Coach E. thought for a long time. At last she looked at me and said, “Okay. I trust you. If you say that the situation is resolved, it is resolved.”
Coach E. and I chatted for a few more minutes, and then I went in search of my daughter. I found her on the basketball court behind her residence hall, shooting around with her boyfriend. Maribel was not so much shooting as cussing, using some terms that even I, in my imaginary worldliness, have never heard.
Maribel and I talked for a bit, and then I sent her up to her room. I then went to talk to the boyfriend.
“Son,” I said, as, to this day, I cannot remember his name, “I’d like you to take care of the situation, please. Do you understand what I am saying?”
The boyfriend somberly looked me in the eye. “Yes, sir, I do,” was all he said. I think it is so cute that he calls me “sir.” However, he knows that I know that he’s sleeping with my daughter, and if he wants to keep the appendage that allows him to do that it is best that he gives me the appropriate amount of respect.
The two of us went up to Maribel’s room, and found her there, stewing. I told her to concentrate on her classes and work the anger out of her system, and that I would talk to her coach in a few days. Then I bid her farewell, got back into my car, and drove back home.
Two days later, the boyfriend called me. “It’s been taken care of,” he told me.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Yes, sir, I’m positive.”
The next morning, I called Coach E. “The situation has been dealt with to my satisfaction,” I told her.
“Thank-you, Frank,” she answered. “I might let Maribel twist for a couple of more days, but she’s back on the team.”
So what transpired between Maribel and her boyfriend that that convinced me that Maribel had learned her lesson and was fit to resume her spot on the basketball team? The truth is that I do not know.
However, I have a pretty strong suspicion.
I suspect that Maribel’s boyfriend gave her a good, long, hard, painful spanking on her bare butt with a hairbrush or paddle, or perhaps with his belt.
I know, and I have previously communicated to you, that Maribel is a spanko, like her parents. In addition, I have previously sensed that there is some unspoken communication that occurs between the boyfriend and myself. When I told him to “take care of the situation,” that was spanko code that I was leaving it to his discretion whether Maribel needed a spanking, and, if so, how and when to deliver it. I could tell by the look in his eye and the tone of his voice that he had received the message. When he called to inform me that the situation had been dealt with, I could tell that Maribel had been appropriately chastised, and the matter could now be put into the past.
Does it make me a bad father to ask my boyfriend-in-law, no matter how indirectly, to give my daughter a spanking. I’ll let others be the judge. Perhaps in a different family. However, we are Spankos. I would not consider a similar chastisement for my younger daughter. I would not suggest it for anyone else on her team. But knowing Maribel as I do, I thought that this was the best way to get everyone concerned to move forward.
Maribel was reinstated. Coach E. made no further mention of the incident, although the miscreant players, including Maribel, did have to pick up towels and chase down errant balls in practice for a few days. The season has gone well. Maribel has played fabulously. And there has been no further trouble. It appears that everything has turned out satisfactorily.
You probably thought I was going to say fantastic. I’ll save that for when they win the championship.
