JASON L. KEENE

It’s official: Mini-Me is a Mini-SHE. We’re having a GIRL.

Not that I mind. Girls are wonderful, I love girls. I’ve loved girls since as far back as I can remember. Loved them as a child, as a teen, and as a man.

But I worry. I worry because, well… I’ve LOVED girls. Get what I mean, yet? Yeah.

Will fate sit back and chuckle as I fight, fumble, and strain to cope with a girl growing up? I think so. I know how boys are because (as you may already know) I was one years ago. I know how they think; how the twisted prospects concerning a female churn in their brains like a neverending addiction. Boys (for the most part) love girls, and now it’s time for Jason to pay the piper. Reap what I sowed. Eat a big honkin’ chunk of Humble Pie.

Given, to my own extent, I wouldn’t have too much to worry about. I’ve always treated women with respect: family, friends, and lovers. But I hung out with the “players” at one time. I know how it goes down, and it usually ain’t pretty.

When the lady at the clinic today said “It’s a girl, see these three lines right here? Rest assured, your baby is 100% a GIRL,” I didn’t see three lines. I didn’t see any hoo-ha or cootchie. All I could see was into the future, and that’s where my mind has remained ever since she told us.

Will I make a good parent? I’d like to think so. Now knowing that my child will be female, I have to bring up another question: will I be an overly protective father? Frightened by my own response, I say “probably”.

On our way home, I pondered what the future held. I tried to imagine situations that would no doubt arise during my parenthood to a female.

Her first run-in with “the monthly visitor” (I mean, look at me, I won’t even say it in context to my own child); talking about sex; sitting down to watch an old Spider-Man movie and having her ask me “daddy, why does he have a bulge in his crotch?”.

And then there’s the topic of boys in general. When they start showing up to “study” after school, or (oh sweet Hell) when she goes out on her first date. I tried to imagine what I would say when the poor little guy came in and sat down for introductions. My immediate response came out as follows:

Him: Hello, Mr. Keene. How are you doing tonight?
Me: Mm’hmm. ~pops neck and stares the Fatherly Stare of Ultimate Doom~
Him: Um…yep.
*5-10 minutes of staring contest silence fills the void*
Me: So, you circumcised?
Him: Huh?! I’m sorry, what did you ask?
Me: It ain’t a hard question, shit-stain. Are…you…circumcised?
Him: Um…yeah. Yeah. Why? Does that matter?
Me: Well you listen here, and you listen good. I’m only going to say this once, then you all can go out. Your daddy had the first part of your little doorknob lopped off, and if you fuck up, then her daddy will rip the rest of it off with his bare hands. We clear, peckerwood?
Him: …crystal, sir.

She’s not even born yet, years and years away from puberty, and she’s already giving me ulcers. But I’ve never been more happy in all of my life.