From the New Yorker:

Jaxsen, is it? Fine. Whatever. Look here, PAL, I’ve got something to say. I, TOO, was a sixteen-year-old boy once. I’m not an idiot. I know how this works. I’m glad that you and Raina are having fun together. But listen up, buddy, and LISTEN GOOD—it’s 2018, and if you do ANYTHING to hurt my daughter, I swear to GOD, I will be concerned and disappointed but ultimately step back and let her navigate her own emotional GROWTH.

Here’s the goddam deal, JAXSEN—by all means, nervously come over to our house with weird flowers, pick Raina up, and show her a nice time. But KNOW THIS: at every moment, I AM WATCHING myself and actively resisting my ingrained urge to INFANTILIZE MY DAUGHTER and deny her a NORMAL AND HEALTHY EVOLUTION INTO MATURE ADULTHOOD. GOT IT? Good.

So, every time you two lovebirds go out for frozen yogurt and a movie, I want you to remember THIS: I will be sitting on the front porch with my “REVOLVER” CD playing, because I really LOVE that WONDERFUL ALBUM. And you bet your scrawny ass I’ll be READY AND WAITING to hear about WHICH FILM YOU GUYS SAW and WHETHER YOU LIKED IT.

See, CHAMP, if I ever—EVER—learn that you made my daughter cry, or caused her any kind of distress, I swear on my goddam LIFE that I will hunt you down a NICE CARD so that you can write her a proper apology, because we all mess up from time to time, especially as young people, and, FURTHERMORE, I need to accept that I don’t have the ABILITY to shield her from ALL PAIN, which is an inevitable part of LIFE, and, even if I DID, I would only be hindering her development of COPING STRATEGIES. YOU GOT THAT, CHIEF???

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