Over Protective?

You decide.

You also get to guess where I am sitting as I write this.

My daughter wants to spend the night at a friend’s home.  Three girls—two seventeen-year-olds and one fourteen-year-old Princess of My Whole Heart (hereafter referred to as POMWH).  My first instinct is to say, “No.” Loudly, emphatically, and with several syllables.

“Nnnuuhhoooooooooooooooooooooowwww.”  Like that.

There are multitudinous reasons for vetoing this little sleepover.  First through twenty-seventh, there will be no parental units in residence.  Three girls.  Alone.  In a house.  Overnight.  No, I’m not thinking they’re going to throw some kind of B-movie wild party.  These are good kids, and the POMWH has earned my trust several times over.  Still, there are so many things that could happen.  What if there’s a fire?  A major earthquake?  A tsunami?  Don’t tell me it can’t happen—I saw that movie where a meteor hits the Earth and sends a tsunami several hundred miles inland.  Yeah, what if a meteor hits? Do you think three teenage girls are going to know what to do in the event of a meteor strike?

It could be something more mundane.  What if one of the girls is getting ice for her apple juice and drops a piece of ice on the kitchen floor but doesn’t bother to pick it up because her hands are full and it’s only ice and she’s a teenager with no sense of consequences and the POMWH walks by and slips on the ice because she’s ever so slightly clumsy and smacks her head on the counter, splitting her head like a ripe melon.  What then?

What if something goes bump in the night?

And I’m not there to bump it back?

Which brings us to reason twenty-eight.  This house is 28 miles (28.3 miles or 36 minutes, according to Google Maps) from home.  You can’t hear much from that far away.  And if my Daddy alarm goes off, it will take me at least 15 minutes to get there—forget what Google says.  How can I rescue the POMWH from something going bump in the night if I can’t get there instantly?

Look, have you seen the movie Taken?  If you have, you know what I’m talking about.  If not, let me just describe to you a scene straight out of every Daddy’s nightmares:  This teenage girl is staying with a friend in Paris, which is really, really far from L.A., where her father lives.  Even farther than 28.3 miles.  So, basically, she gets abducted from the house at which she is staying—while she is on the phone with her father.  He can’t do anything to stop it because he is too far away.  Sure, he comes to Paris, breaks a lot of people, and rescues her—but I’m pretty sure they both would have avoided the whole thing if they could have.

So here I sit behind the wheel of CoCo Puff (what’s the name of your car?) in front of a strange house at 10:30 pm, using a Thomas guide for a desk and waiting for my daughter and her friends to arrive home after their show.  The plan, as conceived by my most excellent bride, is a simple one:  make sure they arrive safely, see that they get into the house unmolested, and stand by, ready to break people, until my daughter gives me the “All is well” wave from the front door.  Then I will drive the 28.3 miles home and wait uncomfortably for her to call tomorrow and confirm that she survived the night.

Really, it’s a mark of maturity that the girls are open to this plan.  My daughter initially responded to the proposal with, “You’re not serious, right?”

It turns out I was serious.  I had even toned down Cathy’s original proposal, which called for me to follow the girls home from their show.  That bordered on paranoid–even for me.  POMWH agreed to the plan, as the alternative was an exciting night at home.  I’m sure the girls will have sore facial muscles tomorrow from extended eye-rolling and giggling.  Fine by me.

Meanwhile, I’m sitting in a minivan in the dark.  I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if a neighbor came over to see what I was doing.  Embarrassed, but not surprised.

Now that I think about it, why hasn’t anyone come by?  What kind of neighborhood is this, where they let a man sit in a parked car for forty-five minutes late at night waiting for three teenage girls to come home to an empty house?  Sure, you know and I know…but they don’t know!  I would feel a lot better if someone would just call the cops or something.

Ahhh, they have arrived.  They are safely ensconced, and I am going home.

So, am I overprotective for driving all the way out here, or am I under-protective for letting her come at all?  I’d love your opinion—after all, I’m learning as I go, here.  The way I figure it, my girl gets to have a little well-earned freedom, and I get to have a little peace of mind.  All it cost me is a round trip drive of 56.6 miles, some uncomfortable waiting, and the risk of questioning by local law enforcement.

Worth it.