I did a lot of suffering one evening recently. I watched my 13-year-old son prepare for his first date. What a terrible time for a boy; and his father. Do you remember your first date? Do you recall the concern you felt about your clothes? How you labored to get a shine on the same shoes you used to kick the football all afternoon. How you'd run your finger and thumb over the press in your trousers to sharpen the crease a bit. Can you recall the endless time you spent in front of the bathroom mirror brushing and combing your straight hair and pressing a little artificial wave in the front. Sister stopped at the door to give you advice and your little brother giggled and made rude remarks about “going out with a girl”. Dad would take a little of his shaving lotion and dab it on your face and you'd be delighted with the sweet smell all the time you were remonstrating about "not wanting any sexy perfume" on your face. And then there was that long terrible walk to the girls home, where are you had to pass the sandlot were friends would all join in a chorus to see how much they could embarrass you. The trip to "her" house seem to take days instead of moments, and then finally, you were on the doorstep, shaking like a leaf. The girlfriend always had two younger sisters who hid behind doors and giggled when you were ushered into the sitting room. Then you'd have to meet her parents, and although you did your best to act like a gentleman, you'd feel very young and insecure and you'd be concerned because your hands were damp with nervousness when you shook their hands. Yes…that first date was murder. Like the song says, I'm so glad I'm not young anymore.
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