I’m told that bras can be painful and constricting.

That makes sense to me. A loose-fitting, soft cotton, worn, oversized t-shirt with no bra underneath must feel great.

So why does it bother me so when it’s my daughter doing it?

Now to be clear, this happens at home where, as my girls say, they don’t have to worry about what people think (the rationale they also use when table manners are forgotten).

But I just don’t like it – even at home.

Maybe my DNA has been programmed to protect the female members of my tribe from marauding invaders and I believe deep inside my primal being that this type of dress (or undress) is just going to encourage the Huns when they arrive.

Or maybe my square upbringing has brain washed me to believe that free thinking hippies, and not my daughters, dress this way.

Or maybe is it just that I don’t like being reminded that my babies are now women.

Ever seen a father cry at a wedding? I’ll be that guy.

“Summer camp is not for having fun.”

Imagine my surprise, when I was told that my daughters were quoting me as saying that.

It’s simply not true.

It is true, however, that I have moaned about how outrageous summer camps cost. This point of view is influenced by the fact that I live in New York where everything is over-priced and that during my modest means childhood, my summer camps were my back yard.

And yes, it is true that when my daughters advocated for different camps being attended by their friends they were quickly dismissed because my wife and I agreed that we’d only consider camps where the girls learned something in addition to having fun. Places like volleyball camp, tennis camp, sailing camp, swimming camp, even acting camp.

And fun was had at all these venues, evidenced by the beautiful locales, the friends they made, and the fond memories and anecdotes they shared.

Yet, after decades of premium camp spending, I’m depicted as the Scrooge of summer’s good times.

So when I asked my daughters about this characterization, I expected sheepish, apologetic explanations or indignant huffs of how they had been misquoted.

On the contrary, however, they choired, “But you did say that, Daddy.”

What?

“Remember when we told you we wanted to go to Sarah’s camp,” they continued. “Where they did all those fun, different things and you said, no way, were you going to spend thousands of dollars so we could learn how to make a bowl.”

Well I did say that.

So fathers beware. One colorful remark can leave a big stain.

Daughter #1 and her boyfriend are in our backyard hammock.

It’s a beautiful day.  The sun’s bright and the sky’s deep blue.

They’re in plain site. And he’s a good kid.

But he’s a boy.  And my daughter’s only 15.

And a hammock is basically an outdoor bed.

I’m going out there now.