The Interview
An excerpt from Robert Wolgemuth's book She Calls Me Daddy.
I made the decision to do "something" about dating way back when our second daughter, Julie, was in sixth grade. She had, unbeknownst to us, agreed to "go with" another sixth-grader named Vincent. Two months after this romance had begun, Vincent called our house. Missy, Julie's older sister, answered the phone. After identifying himself, Vincent asked Missy if Julie was home. She wasn't. So Vincent asked Missy to give Julie the following message: "Tell her she's dumped."
I decided we could do better than that.
Four years later, Julie turned 16. Coming home from work one evening, as I wheeled my car into our driveway, the two-door European sedan parked in front of our house caught my eye. "Nice," I remember whispering out loud. "Very nice."
Steven was a senior. I had already suspected he was interested in Julie because of his recent visits to our church and Sunday school. Julie was only a week short of her sixteenth birthday, and Steven knew the rules: no "single" dating until Julie had turned 16, and boys must be "interviewed" by me.
I walked through the kitchen into the family room, where Bobbie, Julie, and Steven were sitting, making small talk.
Steven quickly stood. "Good evening, Mr. Wolgemuth," he said, squeezing out a thin, nervous smile.
"Hi, Steven. How are you?" I replied, firmly shaking his hand.
"Fine." His lips were white.
Following a few seconds of silence, I spoke again. "How about if we go into the next room for a few minutes?"
His visit to our house was to get this meeting out of the way. He knew it was part of the deal, and he was ready.
Steven was tall and handsome, with steel-blue eyes, curly, blonde hair, and a winsome smile. He was a varsity basketball player with a physique to match. He followed me into my study, where I invited him to sit in the chair across from my desk.
Again, after just a moment of silence, I broke in. "I couldn't help but notice the car out front when I drove in," I said. "Is it yours?"
"Yes, sir," Steven replied, displaying his best manners. "My dad is helping with the payments, but I cover the insurance and gas. We bought it last summer, and I spent a lot of time fixing it up. The engine was in pretty good shape, but the body needed some work."
That was a lot more information than I was looking for, but I let him run. He was taking the bait. After a few more minutes of detail about what he had done to the car, I leaned back in my chair.
"It sounds like this is a pretty special car," I said, leading him deeper. He nodded as I continued: "Now, can I ask you a question?"
"Okay, go ahead," he replied.
"What if I had come to your house last night, knocked on the door, and asked if I could borrow your car for the evening? What would you have said?"
Steven took no time to respond: "I'd have said 'No way.' "
"Poor kid," I thought. "You've had it now."
"Why?" I replied, acting as though his answer fascinated me.
"Well, because I don't know you. I don't know how you drive. I don't know how you'd treat my car. I'm not sure I can trust you. That car's important to me." Steven's narrowed eyes let me know he was very serious.
When he finished, I leaned forward on my elbows, taking just a moment to make sure he was listening carefully. "That's interesting, Steven," I finally said. "I know exactly what you're saying. If I were you, I'd do the same thing."
He smiled and, for the first time, looked a little relaxed. Some color was returning to his lips. "You would?" he said.
"Absolutely," I reassured him. "And do you want to know why?" I gave him no time to answer. "Because tonight you've come to my house and asked if you can borrow our daughter for the evening. And before I let you do that, I want to find out who you are."
A shocked but dawning look of understanding crossed his face — an interesting mix of discovery and nausea. I had his undivided attention. I double-checked to be sure he was still breathing.
Believe it or not, the conversation that followed wasn't adversarial. I actually found myself liking Steven. All things considered, he seemed like a nice, young man. As we talked, I reminded him that, as an 18-year-old, he was far more experienced than Julie. I expected him to treat her the way he treated his four-wheeled import. No, actually, better.
He understood.
We talked about what was important to him — his sports, his family, his favorite subjects in school, his plans for next year, and his faith. I told him a little about our family and assured him he would always be welcome in our home. I told him our daughter's friends were our friends. He seemed appreciative.
When we finished our conversation, we both stood up. I shook his hand.
"You know, Mr. Wolgemuth," he said, "if I ever have a 16-year-old daughter of my own, I'll do what you did today."
"Thank you, Steven," I replied. "It means a lot that you would say that."
I walked him to the family room, where Bobbie and Julie were waiting. They later told me they had been praying for him. "Good bye, Steven," I said. "I'll see you around."
"Good bye, Mr. Wolgemuth."
I decided we could do better than that.
Four years later, Julie turned 16. Coming home from work one evening, as I wheeled my car into our driveway, the two-door European sedan parked in front of our house caught my eye. "Nice," I remember whispering out loud. "Very nice."
Steven was a senior. I had already suspected he was interested in Julie because of his recent visits to our church and Sunday school. Julie was only a week short of her sixteenth birthday, and Steven knew the rules: no "single" dating until Julie had turned 16, and boys must be "interviewed" by me.
I walked through the kitchen into the family room, where Bobbie, Julie, and Steven were sitting, making small talk.
Steven quickly stood. "Good evening, Mr. Wolgemuth," he said, squeezing out a thin, nervous smile.
"Hi, Steven. How are you?" I replied, firmly shaking his hand.
"Fine." His lips were white.
Following a few seconds of silence, I spoke again. "How about if we go into the next room for a few minutes?"
His visit to our house was to get this meeting out of the way. He knew it was part of the deal, and he was ready.
Steven was tall and handsome, with steel-blue eyes, curly, blonde hair, and a winsome smile. He was a varsity basketball player with a physique to match. He followed me into my study, where I invited him to sit in the chair across from my desk.
Again, after just a moment of silence, I broke in. "I couldn't help but notice the car out front when I drove in," I said. "Is it yours?"
"Yes, sir," Steven replied, displaying his best manners. "My dad is helping with the payments, but I cover the insurance and gas. We bought it last summer, and I spent a lot of time fixing it up. The engine was in pretty good shape, but the body needed some work."
That was a lot more information than I was looking for, but I let him run. He was taking the bait. After a few more minutes of detail about what he had done to the car, I leaned back in my chair.
"It sounds like this is a pretty special car," I said, leading him deeper. He nodded as I continued: "Now, can I ask you a question?"
"Okay, go ahead," he replied.
"What if I had come to your house last night, knocked on the door, and asked if I could borrow your car for the evening? What would you have said?"
Steven took no time to respond: "I'd have said 'No way.' "
"Poor kid," I thought. "You've had it now."
"Why?" I replied, acting as though his answer fascinated me.
"Well, because I don't know you. I don't know how you drive. I don't know how you'd treat my car. I'm not sure I can trust you. That car's important to me." Steven's narrowed eyes let me know he was very serious.
When he finished, I leaned forward on my elbows, taking just a moment to make sure he was listening carefully. "That's interesting, Steven," I finally said. "I know exactly what you're saying. If I were you, I'd do the same thing."
He smiled and, for the first time, looked a little relaxed. Some color was returning to his lips. "You would?" he said.
"Absolutely," I reassured him. "And do you want to know why?" I gave him no time to answer. "Because tonight you've come to my house and asked if you can borrow our daughter for the evening. And before I let you do that, I want to find out who you are."
A shocked but dawning look of understanding crossed his face — an interesting mix of discovery and nausea. I had his undivided attention. I double-checked to be sure he was still breathing.
Believe it or not, the conversation that followed wasn't adversarial. I actually found myself liking Steven. All things considered, he seemed like a nice, young man. As we talked, I reminded him that, as an 18-year-old, he was far more experienced than Julie. I expected him to treat her the way he treated his four-wheeled import. No, actually, better.
He understood.
We talked about what was important to him — his sports, his family, his favorite subjects in school, his plans for next year, and his faith. I told him a little about our family and assured him he would always be welcome in our home. I told him our daughter's friends were our friends. He seemed appreciative.
When we finished our conversation, we both stood up. I shook his hand.
"You know, Mr. Wolgemuth," he said, "if I ever have a 16-year-old daughter of my own, I'll do what you did today."
"Thank you, Steven," I replied. "It means a lot that you would say that."
I walked him to the family room, where Bobbie and Julie were waiting. They later told me they had been praying for him. "Good bye, Steven," I said. "I'll see you around."
"Good bye, Mr. Wolgemuth."
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Excerpted from She Calls Me Daddy. Copyright © 1996 by Robert Wolgemuth. A Focus on the Family book published by Tyndale House Publishers. Excerpt may not be reproduced without the prior consent of the publisher. All rights reserved. International copyright secured.
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You can order a copy of She Calls Me Daddy here.