By Kenneth L. Hardin

I’m thinking of starting a support group for people who can’t mind their business and leave well enough alone. I won’t just be the founder; I’ll actively participate in many of the sessions myself. I’m a good driver and have only had two speeding tickets in my life, but for some reason when it comes to my sons’ dating lives, I just can’t seem to stay in my lane.

Don’t call me Mrs. Kravitz, I’m far from the nosey neighbor who lived across the street from Samantha and Darrin on “Bewitched.” I would rather be likened to that lovable old terror on four tires named J. Quincy Magoo, better known to cartoon fans as Mr. Magoo. He was plagued by extreme nearsightedness but wouldn’t admit he suffered from this ailment. When it comes to my boys, I have some visual acuity issues and stubbornly refuse to acknowledge they’re not little kids anymore.

Five years prior and up until two weeks ago, I committed two dating road rules infractions. I consider myself a man of great taste, a discerning eye, one who can spot beauty, intellect and compatibility, and I possess the unique ability to bring like-minded individuals together. I should be living high up on a mountain somewhere far away, draped in monk’s clothing and serving as a wise elder to those who would dare scale the treacherous rocks to seek out my guidance. But, I sacrificed that path and turned down the opportunity because I knew my kids needed me here.

Several years ago, after one of my sons and his “friend” had decided to just be friends, I felt it was my opportunity to employ all the aforementioned unique skills I possess. I was at an eye appointment when this lovely young lady came in to prep me. She spoke like she had just jumped off a country & western album and put on nurse’s scrubs. I enjoyed listening to the slight hillbilly twang sounding so foreign coming out of the mouth of this copper-colored sister. I told her there was no way she was from N.C. She laughed, admitting she was a recent transplant from West Virginia. I immediately went to work. I didn’t notice any ownership jewelry, so without subtlety, I asked if she was single, dating or otherwise betrothed. She acknowledged that she had recently ended the relationship that brought her to our little slice of marginal Heaven. I knew it was go-time!

I pulled out my phone, showed her pictures of my son and asked if she would be open to meeting him. She giggled and asked if she could take my phone and exited the room. When she came back in, she giggled more but evidently had gotten approval from her female coworkers that he’d passed muster. I snapped her picture, took down her number and then finished up that pesky reason I actually came in for the appointment. I reached out to my son with the exciting news knowing I would be hailed and feted as father of the decade. Boy was I wrong.

While no specific words were exchanged, the mood and temperature of the call was enough for Mr. Magoo to yell at me, “Road hog!” I was out of my lane.

Five years later, since my driving record had improved with no other infractions, I felt comfortable getting back on the road. Two weeks ago, as I was innocently shopping for sweet potato pies at a local Food Lion, I struck up a conversation with a nice young sister employed there. For the last 18 months, I’ve gotten to know her fairly well. I routinely talk with her about her family, her future and life goals.

This day, she shared that she had recently ended a relationship and I knew one of my other sons was also single. I asked her if she would be open to meeting him and she shyly giggled as she looked at the floor. I jumped into my used car salesman mode showering her with all the bells and whistles that he possesses. I was too far in to pull up, so after she said yes, I dialed him on the phone as we stood there. I was still a bit gun shy from my faux pas five years earlier with his brother, so after he answered, I said, “I hope you’re not going to be mad, but I have a pretty young lady here I want you to meet.” After using my car salesman skills to now promote her, I gave her my phone and walked away to continue shopping while they talked. When I circled back around, they were still talking, so I saw it as a good sign.

For some reason, however, my mind was uttering that famous cartoon line, “Oh Magoo, you’ve done it again.”

 Kenneth L. (Kenny) Hardin  is a member of the National Association of Black Journalists.