Girl dads, don’t let your daughters grow up to be victims.
My dad has been dead almost 20 years, but I still hear his thunderous, not-to-be-messed-with voice every time I read a story like the Cornell University alleged gang-rape. I think to myself, there but for the grace of Big Jim go I.
Big Jim was the OG of girl dads, and if he were still around, I know exactly what kind of counsel he’d be offering, unbidden and free of charge. You are a girl’s first and foremost male role model, which means the job falls to you to impress upon your daughters that being a woman doesn’t prescribe them to a life of moving through the world as if they are passive participants. Teach them early that they are not leaves scattered by the breeze, subject to being blown off course by the whims of others.
Girls do not have to grow up helpless and weak and everything meek.
I didn’t realize for a long time how fortunate I was to have Big Jim for a dad. Like all kids do, I assumed all fathers were like mine. I didn’t realize what a girl warrior I had for a dad until I approached the terrible teens and started to watch my friends fall under the spell of the popular kids or fall prey to their own insecurities — and, trust me, even the most outwardly confident girls wear their insecurities like an itchy school uniform. Just because they’re not caught scratching in public does not mean it is not so.
It surprised me to learn that not every friend was subjected to the speech that, in my case, was repeated so often I could finish most of the sentences. As soon as it became clear to my dad that his influence as a parent was competing, and in some cases, colliding, with the sway of my peer group, he sat me down for the talk.
The gist of it was this: You are going to cross paths with a lot of people who claim to be your friend but do not necessarily have your best interests at heart. You are going to be encouraged to go along with the crowd, and if that crowd shuns you if you resist, they are not your friends. Move on. Your people are out there, and part of the growing-up process is identifying who belongs in your circle — and who doesn’t.
People are going to try to coerce you to do things that go against the values your mom and I have done our best to instill in you. They are going to offer you alcohol, and drugs, and if you refuse, they will call you names. They will accuse you of being uptight, a scaredy cat, a baby. Uncool. They will say you are no fun, a drag. A scold, even. Ignore them. They are not worth your time.
My darling daughter, keep this in mind: If you drink alcohol, or take drugs or have sex outside a committed relationship (did I mention that I was raised staunchly Catholic?), you are making a choice and that choice carries consequences. If you do any of these things, you are ceding control of your behavior, and perhaps even your future, to the alcohol, the drug, a fleeting physical intimacy. You will open yourself to bad outcomes because you have forfeited your personal agency for the sake of feeling something in the moment. It is not worth it.
And one more thing, he added. If you find yourself at a bar or a party, you are never, ever, under any circumstances, to sip from an open can, cup or bottle that has not been in your sights the whole time. I know you don’t believe it, but there are people who will actively seek to take advantage of you. For that reason, you must remain forever on guard.
I never thought of my dad and Camille Paglia as bedfellows, but they were preaching from the same pulpit when it comes to culpability, as demonstrated in this interview.
The eternally-validated Camille Paglia on the Cornell case.
“The sexual revolution must be undone because middle-class women can’t handle it. They cannot take responsibility for their own actions.”
pic.twitter.com/FEXSjUd7M0— Suffragent (@Suffragent_) October 1, 2026
The funny thing about my dad’s speech is I’m not sure I ever gave him any reason to believe it was necessary. To the bemusement of pretty much every adult around me, I grew up a happy homebody who truly thought the most fun I could have on a Saturday night was playing multiple hands of the card game Hearts with my family.
I made it through high school without ever going on an official date, unless you count the annual father-daughter dance, which I never missed. I didn’t shun the social scene because I was friendless or anti-social. I just think that because of the talk, I took seriously my responsibility, as my dad’s much-cherished daughter, to surround myself with the right people and pour all my energies into becoming a person I could be proud of.
It was super important to me not to let my dad down because his love for me, he made so plain. Which is why I’ve never felt comfortable with the rationalizations that are dressed up as girl power whenever powerful, self-avowed feminists engage in discourse about female victimhood.
I remember listening to Dr. Caroline Heldman talk about how a sorority sister has every right, same as a fraternity brother, to binge drink. And when that “inevitably” happens, the responsibility falls to the men around her to protect her, not exploit her.
This is not feminism as my dad explained it. Because of the talk, my college years were spent laser-focused on preparing myself for the future I envisioned for myself. I was on the swim team and in a sorority, and never, ever did I assume for a millisecond that it was “inevitable” that I would get drunk to the point of incapacitation.
And while I agree only people of extraordinarily low-character would take advantage of anyone in a compromised state, I wouldn’t have been my girl dad’s daughter if I didn’t clear my throat and say, “But why does the woman bear no responsibility for her decision to get fall-down drunk?”
Heldman had no rejoinder, and that’s okay. Because of the talk, I knew that what she thought of me was not my business. Showing up every day as the woman that would justify my girl dad’s investment in me is all that I can control.