special treatment

The Journey to the Clinic

"Well that was the head master," my petite wife said as she entered the dining room with the phone in her hand and her lips pursed. Her pretty latina face looked expectantly at our daughter who sat across the table from me, a worried look on her face. My wife didn't have to say anything, but just gave her daughter that parental stare, flicking her eyes towards me to tell her to fess up to her father. I turned my head to my daughter, concerned over what had happened.

"Daddy, I was caught kissing a boy in the principle's office today," my daughter said, her face awash with shame. I was shocked. Emily was almost eighteen now, but she was still my little girl, and a no-good boy was trying to take her innocence away from her. My daughter hung her head with guilt, before looking up to me, "I'm so sorry daddy, I don't know what I was thinking I'm far too young for that."

I couldn't sense any cynicism in her voice, and had never had a reason to mistrust her word. I took my time before saying seriously, "That was a very inappropriate thing for a young lady to be doing... but at least you can admit that you were wrong." I was relieved. I reminded myself that we had brought her up well.

After my wife joined us at the table, the topic of boys came up again, and from what my daughter was saying, it became clear to both myself and my wife that she was growing a little interest in boys, and looking at her changing body, it was understandable that boys might also be interested in her. "Emsie, you know that boys will only hurt you. They have bad minds, and after all, you are only 17!"

She replied with a bit of frustration, "dad, I'm about to turn 18, and you know I'm not interested in boys right now. You and mom told me that I should stay away from them until after school, and that is what I am going to do!" There was that teenage attitude again.

For the next week, I looked through the newspapers and visited different centres, looking for ways to help my daughter. One day when I was on the job, looking through a brochure on different psychology treatments for children, three of the young builders walked past.

They stopped by their cars nearby to where I was sitting, pulling out their lunch and some water. One of the surfer-looking guys asked what I was reading and I explained to him. I heard one mutter something to the other, and he suggested to just lock my daughter in the house. It was a joke and I laughed with them.

But just as they were leaving, one of them, a sturdy, young boy who was usually the quietest of the three, turned back to me. He was very serious when he said, "forget the jokes boss, but my uncle was having similar problems and they got great results from this clinic just out of town. Now my cousin is completing her degree in medicine and has barely even been interested in boys. It would be worth taking a visit."

I asked him if I had a number to call, and he told me he would bring it the next day. I went home optimistic that my daughter would stay my little girl, if not in the way she looked or acted, then in her sexual experiences.

The next day he had it for me. I thanked him very much, and I was so eager to get into it that I called the number and asked when I could go in and find out more. They told me I should try to come that afternoon, and to bring my daughter as well, so I made it a plan, scribbling down the address.

I met Emsie out the front gates of her school, and she hopped in the car. I was not impressed at the clothes she was wearing, not realising it was a no-uniform day that day for charity. She had on her old daisy dukes, which did not fit her anymore. They were far too high, with a little bit of her bum poking out beneath the hem, and were also far too tight, hugging her bottom extremely closely. Her button-up blouse was a little tight, too, but not as bad. When I scolded her for her choice in clothes, she told me that neither my wife or me would take her shopping for new clothes, which was true. We detested some of the clothes worn by teenagers these days, but I made a mental note to get my wife to go shopping for some new, more appropriate clothes for our daughter. We really should have gone home for her to change, but I had booked the appointment with no time to spare, and we also had to find the place, so I drove straight to the outskirts of town.

We pulled up at the address, and I was a bit put off by the building that we found. It was a bit industrial, not very professional, and could easily have been mistaken for a block of apartments. But going inside and up to the second floor, there was a clean white door with a professional-looking plaque saying, Dr. Ray, clinical psychologist, and beneath that the name of the company, "Daddy's Little Girl".