On having Five Daughters...
and Learning to live with the DDJD syndrome.

First, let me say that unlike most Asian and Middle East cultures, I do not see having daughters as curse. In fact, if there is God's hand involved with this (and not just the reality that my "y chromosome" must be almost non-existent) it more than likely has something to do with the fact that he knows that I would have been the "little League Dad from Hell," and nobody needs that.

But that said, I am of the belief that having daughters is really the best of both worlds. When they are little, they adore you. Dad can do almost no wrong. My memories are full to the brim with visions of tea parties, Cabbage Patch dolls, dress-ups, and little voices squealing with glee as they react to Dad chasing them around the house, playing "monster." This phase is the "DADDY!" phase of the DDJD syndrome.

The second phase of "DDJD" is "DAD!" as in "DAD! I can't wear my blue dress with red socks! Brittany would make fun of me!" This is the stage when they enter grade school and continues up through the first years of Middle School. It is when your authority and "street credibility" begin to erode, as some girl at her school, usually named Brittany, Ashley, or Hailey (the Alpha females in grade school always have names like that) begins to dictate what is cool, who likes whom, and who gets invited to the parties. You start to see the writing on the wall, and there is suddenly something called "girl talk" that is shared only between your daughters, their friends and the mothers. You feel just a little left out, but realize that most of the "girl talk" is a whole bunch of stuff you would rather not know about anyway.

The final phase can be short, extended, or continue almost all through the last of the teen years. It is the "JEEEEEEZE DAD!" It is when you go from being the coolest person in your little girl's life, to the dumbest, most un-hip moron, ogre, Nazi goon that ever walked the earth. Almost everything you say is met with a smirk or a look of such withering animosity, that you begin to believe that the Feds have you on some sort of "Dorkiest Parent" list that is being disseminated secretly in the dressing rooms at Old Navy and Abercrombie and Fitch.

The first time you are faced with this stage, it tears your heart apart. By the fifth time, you understand that it has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with aliens performing "mind control" on your daughters (most likely through aroma scented ads in Seventeen and Teen Vogue magazines, as well as the low frequencies of the music they play on MTV and the theme songs of Television shows like the O.C. and everything on the WB Network).

Then you figure out that the "aliens" are actually just the ever-present cadre of boys, circling your home and your daughter's lives, looking for "a little love and affection," or at least enough to simulate love and affection to the point that they can figure out what the hell that persistent twitching in their loins is all about.

This is when you have to throw any ideas of being a "cool Dad" completely to the wind, and must take on a persona that is equal parts Tony Soprano, Sherlock Holmes and Mike Tyson. You must give off the vibe that you will use any tactic whatsoever to protect your daughters, including cunning, deception and outright intimidation. They should have the fear/knowledge that you not only KNOW EVERYTHING that is going on, no matter how clever they think they are, but that you will not hesitate to "take care of a problem" in ways that are resolute, and not limited to biting of an adversaries ear, just for effect.

The FUN part of this stage is knowing that after a daughter or two, your reputation precedes you, and your job becomes easier. In addition, after a while, whether they admit it or not, your daughters will love and respect you for protecting them from the kind of guys that they know they shouldn't be dating, and yet to whom seem infinitely attracted.

In the end, after they finally find a guy who is smart, funny, sexy, has a great job, is wonderful with kids, builds houses for the homeless, volunteers at food shelters, loves to hear my stories about my high school and college days, and agrees with all of my political stances, they will thank me. I'm still waiting. But they WILL thank me!