Fractured Fairy Tale--because I am the Fockers

In the next 12 to 36 months, my first born son will emerge as the giant man boy that he has been destined to become.

I have been expecting this for years. From the moment when I was watching him through the glass as a new born in the hospital and having strangers standing beside me asking, "Has the University of Nebraska head football coach called yet?"---I knew. He was so much larger than the other babies. It was so obvious he was destined to be mighty one day. And being a comic book geek from boyhood I also knew; With great power comes great responsibility.

So as I watched he and his older sister playing in the sandbox, I could see a divine order unfolding. It was like a fairy tale. The beautiful maiden girl playing beside what would eventually grow to be the jealous giant. Her protector. He would growl and frighten away all suitors with a protective rage that the princess would honor, because she knew that it kept her from the harm of unworthy men. Until one day, a prince would come, and prove his purity of heart and worthiness by knowing exactly how to tame and befriend the giant. And all would be well in the land and there would be much rejoicing.

That was the vision as I saw it. But now that the time is upon us, I get my reality check. The giant is an easier touch than I originally forecast. Right now, any dude that can last 10 minutes on the Playstation is in there like swimwear.

So. . . . .he's totally fired.

Now all that's left of the fairy tale is the troll. . . .and that would be me.

The princess was asked out by the new guy this weekend. To the movies. How lame. I know that old trick, he's not fooling anybody. But having anticipated this, I have a clause to the Mean Dad No Dating Rule. It is kind of a loophole that I created purposely so as not to entirely stifle my daughter's social life and have her hate me forever. The provision is such that if she wants to go out and do stuff with that 'special guy' she may, provided that she is 'going out with a group of friends' ---and he just happens to be one of those friends. So after the invite, she gets on the phone to all of her friends----"please, help me out here".

And her friends have come to her rescue. They are all off to the movies this Saturday night.

The new boy was a bit bewildered when my daughter casually mentioned that I'm number three in her my space friends box. (I know, I know. I know what you're thinking. 3?? Why not 1?? You are her dad after all. But at this point I'm just glad to be in her top 8. That's more than most dad's can say.)

"Your dad has a myspace page?" he asked her, dumbfounded.

Not a good sign. He's obviously not resonating to our frequency. It had never crossed my daughter's mind that a parent with a myspace account was anything other than perfectly normal.

"Yeah. But he's not a freak or anything."

She's such a good little girl, always coming to her dad's defense.

But he still couldn't reconcile the concept. He probably thinks that the only reason that a grown-up, a male grown-up, would have a myspace page was if they were a predator on the prowl, and possibly expects me to show up on the next Nightline sting operation show. But the truth is much worse.

The troll has given up his bridge and stalks the Internet ether to protect his princess. I'm watching you, son. I'm watching you.

On a very different note, is anyone else totally psyched about the opening of the Mary Poppins musical on Broadway tomorrow? It's gonna be sooooo goooooood!