Nigel Latta - Fathers Raising Daughters: The Fathers Guide to the Female Mind-Field

She looked as sweet as fake maple syrup, sitting there in her designer jeans and a pink top which showed far too much skin for a 13-year-old, but Id been doing this long enough to know that books and covers have only a very loose association.

In the same way that its true that if youre lost in the wilderness its good to avoid the red berries because theyre the ones most likely to be poisonous, beware the girly girlstheyre the ones most likely to bite.

Her dad and mum had brought her in; although it would probably be more accurate to say that theyd dragged and cajoled her in with a mixture of threats, bribes, and begging. Mum was stuck in traffic, so at the moment it was just the three of us.

Kara, bless her, had recently discovered that she could get her way whenever she wanted simply through the infliction of grinding terror on her parents. She just wasnt old enough to appreciate that there might actually be a good reason why they got so terrified when she threatened to run away every time they tried to stand up to her incessant demands.

So, Peter, Im thinking that Amandas going to be a while, so why dont we kick things off? I said to her dad. Whats brought you along today?

Dad looked briefly at Kara, who duly rolled her eyes and slumped in her seat, looking as if she was both utterly disinterested and loving every moment of the drama: Weve been having a few problems at home.

Kara looked at him and affected a sustained, scornful, and well-practised sneer.

How so? I asked.

We dont seem to be able to see eye-to-eye on anything.

No, Kara cut in, and the venom in her voice would have made a death adder flinch. Thats not true, Dad.

Well, we do seem to be arguing a lot these days.

So?

So it isnt very nice for me or your mum, and Im sure it isnt very nice for

Well if Mum wasnt such a bitch it wouldnt end up in an argument all the time.

I could see that Kara was beginning to wind up. In my experience, 13-year-old girls are a little like dynamite thats been left lying around in the sun for too long: they start to leak gelignite after a while, and all it takes is a little bump and the whole lot goes up.

Please dont talk about your mother like that, Peter said.

For most of us, this would not constitute a bump. Peter said it firmly, but reasonably. He didnt swear at her, or threaten her, or even raise his voice. He even said please. None of that mattered, though, because Kara was looking for any old reason, and that would do as well as anything else.

Fuck you! she said, leaping to her feet, bursting into tears, and affecting a martyrs stance all in one fell swoop. Youre just the same as her. You always take her side and you never listen to me. Fuck you, thenI dont have to stay and listen to this.

Before Peter could say another word, she stormed out of the room, slamming the door hard enough to make the wall behind me shudder.

We both sat there for a moment as the dust, both literal and figurative, settled around us. Peter had a look on his face that Ive seen many times over the years: a curious blend of bone-jarring confusion and complete dismay.

Do you know where napalm gets its name? I asked him. (One of the nice things about working with guys is you can assume that they know what napalm is.)

Pardon?

Napalm. Do you know where it gets its name?

He shook his head. No.

It actually comes from two of the ingredients they use to make the gasoline into a gel: naphthenic and palmitic salts. Na-palm.

Really?

Yeah. In fact, the naphthenic part comes from crude oil, and the palmitic bit is from plants, palm oil. They first used the stuff in the Second World War, on 17 July 1944 actually, when they dropped it on a fuel dump in France. And you know what the secret of good napalm is?

It has to be sticky, replied Peter.

Exactly, I said, once again thinking how marvellous it was to work with men who knew about things like what makes napalm so special. Up until then, the problem had been that if they dropped incendiary bombs the stuff splashed all over the place and drained away too quickly. They needed something that would stick and burn.

I know how that feels, he said. She napalms us all the time.

Raising a daughter can be a confusing thing, I said as he slowly nodded in agreement. They tell you about all the sugar and spice, but no one tells you about the napalm.

Half the time I have no idea whats going on with her, he said. It wasnt so bad when she was little, but nowgood God. Why doesnt someone write a book that tells us poor confused dads whats going on inside a girls head?

Well, actually, I said, Im doing that at the moment, and Im thinking that you guys might be just the preface I was looking for.

He laughed. So whats the book about?

Its like a dads guide to raising girls. I explain why girls feel so different when actually theyre not really, and some of the big dos and donts Ive learned from all the dads and daughters Ive seen over the years.

Such as?

Well, stuff like dont be a big girl, for one.

Peter laughed again. What does that mean?

It means just because you have a girl it doesnt mean you need to be one to raise her.

Thank God, he said. If I was more like her then our house would be little more than smoking ruins after a day or so.

At that moment Amanda, who had resolved her traffic issues, walked into my office. Wheres Kara? she asked.

Did you know that napalm is made from palm oil? Peter asked her.

Nay-what? she said, looking puzzled.

Peter and I looked at each, smiling and enjoying the fraternity that only the manly sharing of technical information about incendiary bombs can produce.

Its a guy thing.

Interestingly, so is this book.