Oh, the good ol’ days when men were men and women were women, and boys didn’t compete in girl competitions to win gold. This is at least the outlook of barely Gen Xer–Frank Wilkins. Upon learning his teenaged daughter was lesbian, Franky went to his local pub and drowned his sorrows over a few pints, missing the yonder days when men only worried about their daughters getting pregnant.
“When I discovered I was having a daughter sixteen years ago, my first purchase was a 12 gauge shotgun. I thought this will be a right of passage for me, my dad, my dad’s dad, and my dad’s dad’s dad, all found their trusty 12 gauges to be integral in facilitating a shotgun wedding for their pregnant daughters. Now, I mean, ol’ faithful will stay in the gun locker never knowing the glory of forcing a confused young man to marry my daughter for his illicit nip of the forbidden fruit.”
Mr. Wilkins has taken the news quite hard. We are all unexpectedly thrust into the confusing world of parenting. Some parents run-up credit cards while others helicopter over their angelic little creations–dictating the terms with which every milestone is encountered, some dads buy antique cars and spend his children’s youth with his face buried in a pristine manifold, while Frank just longed to carry on his father’s legacy.
Shotgun in one hand, and marriage license in another; Frank pointing his soon to be son in law towards the nuptial altar where his inconveniently pregnant daughter prepares for wedded bliss. This was the dream of Frank Wilkins, a dream dashed by his daughter’s freshly announced sexual orientation. May he find a new way to cope with the norms of an ever-changing world.