Colonel Jill Morgenthaler - Someone You Should Know
Chaplain Finds Holy Ground In Iraq

Almost Here!

Well, Mrs. Blackfive is supposed to be due to deliver our little girl at the end of July. However, her doctor just informed her that we may be about 5 weeks early. YIKES!!!

I say "Yikes!", not because of any danger to the baby (there isn't any danger to the baby for being that early), but because I AIN'T READY FOR ANOTHER BABY! I also say "Yikes!" because this is a PG-13 blog and I really was thinking - "Sweet Mother of Jesus, that's *bleep* too *bleep*ing soon!!!"

And, you know what the really scary part is about this? I don't even have a pseudonym for her, yet. How lame is that? What kind of blogger-dad would not have pseudonym ready for his baby girl?

So, what do I call her - "Next Little Blackfive"?

"Littlest Blackfive"? That sounds like a Charlie Chan movie.

How about "Little Blackfive - Female-type"? No? Too military?

How about "Blackfive-ette"?


Anyway, one of my friends modified the Ten Simple Rules for Dating My Daughter. If you really knew me, you wouldn't be laughing because I'm pretty sure it's accurate.

Oh. Can one of you tell me when it's appropriate to start a little girl with Hapkido?

The revised version of Ten Simple Rules is in the Extended Section of the Post.

Ten Simple Rules for Dating Blackfive's Daughter

If you pull into my driveway and honk you’d better be delivering a package because you’re sure as hell not picking anything up. And when you do make it to the door, you had better not be on your cell phone. Respect me and my family and you'll live through the night.

You do not touch my daughter in front of me. You may glance at her, so long as you do not peer at anything below her neck. If you cannot keep your eyes or hands off of my daughter’s body, I will remove them...with my Randall Knife...that I keep rusty and dull for just such an occasion.

I am aware that it is considered fashionable for boys of your age to wear their trousers so loosely that they appear to be falling off their hips. Please don’t take this as an insult, but you and all of your friends are complete idiots. Still, I want to be fair and open minded about this issue, so I propose this compromise: You may come to the door with your underwear showing and your pants ten sizes too big, and I will not object. However, in order to ensure that your clothes do not, in fact, come off during the course of your date with my daughter, I will take my electric nail gun and fasten your trousers securely in place to your waist.

When you are talking with your friends and acting cool, don't malign my daughter's reputation. I'll know if you do. And, when you're b.s.-ing around with them and you think that you might have seen me behind that tree, you probably did.

In order for us to get to know each other, you might think that we should talk about sports, politics, and other issues of the day. Please do not do this. The only information I require from you is an indication of when you expect to have my daughter safely back at my house, and the only word I need from you on this subject is “early”.

I have no doubt you are a popular fellow, with many opportunities to date other girls. This is fine with me as long as it is okay with my daughter. Otherwise, once you have gone out with my little girl, you will continue to date no one but her until she is finished with you. If you make her cry, I will make you cry...a lot.

As you stand in my front hallway, waiting for my daughter to appear, and more than an hour has gone by, do not sigh and fidget. If you want to be on time for a movie you should not be dating. My daughter is putting on her makeup, a process that can take longer than painting the Golden Gate Bridge. Instead of just standing there why don’t’ you do something useful, like change the oil in my car?

The following places are not appropriate for a date with my daughter:

    Places where there are beds, sofas, or anything softer than a wooden stool
    Places where there are no parent’s, policemen, or nuns within eyesight.
    Places where there is darkness.
    Places where there is dancing, holding hands or happiness.
    Places where the ambient temperature is warm enough to induce my daughter to wear shorts, tank tops, midriff T-shirts, or anything other than overalls, a sweater and a goose down parka zipped up to her throat.
    Movies with a strong romantic or sexual theme are to be avoided; movies which feature chainsaws are ok.
    Old folk homes are better.

Do not lie to me. I may appear to be a pot-bellied, middle-aged, dim-witted has-been but on issues relating to my daughter, I am the all-knowoing, merciless god of your universe. If I ask you where you are going and with whom, you have one chance to tell me the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I have a shotgun, a shovel, and 5 acres behind the house. Do not trifle with me.

Be afraid. Be very afraid. I have a hearing loss and it takes very little for me to mistake the sound of your car in the driveway for an Iraqi Republican Guard (Soviet) T-72 tank. When my stress level gets too high, the voices in my head frequently tell me to clean the guns as I wait for you to bring my daughter home. As soon as you pull into the driveway you should exit your car with both hands in plain sight. Speak the perimeter password, announce in a clear voice that you have brought my daughter home safely and early, then turn and run back to your car. There is no need for you to come inside. The camouflaged face that you see in the window is mine...