On freaking and being freaked upon.

A couple weeks back, I wrote about Rita Wilson, a vice principal at Rancho Bernardo High School in suburban San Diego, and how she set up an underwear-inspection station at a school dance. There, just outside the school gym, Wilson lifted girls' skirts and checked under there for thong underwear. Students say Wilson also did a little shirt-lifting and pulling to make sure girls were wearing bras. Just for balance, she pulled up some boys' togas (yeah, togas) to confirm that they were wearing something under there.

Wilson was suspended from the school, and some of her inspectees' parents have demanded her resignation and threatened to file lawsuits.

Well, don't you know, Wilson has gone on TV and defended her actions. "This was a safety issue, it was not a choice of underwear issue," Wilson told NBC San Diego TV News. "I think that parents don't realize what school dances are like now," she continued. "I think [they would] if they could see inside a dark gymnasium with 750 students simulating sex."

Wilson says her underwear-inspection station was really about protecting kids during freak dancing. "That's what I wanted," she said. "If they were going to freak, at least their bottoms were going to be covered. Freak dancing is not a fun thing to watch all night. I've had employees who have been freaked upon."

Say what? Students and school employees alike getting "freaked upon"? This concept of freak dancing is new to me, so I did a little research. Apparently, when kids get busy freak dancing, they bump and grind front-to-front, front-to-back, and face-to-pelvis in varying combinations of couples, trios, and groups. This includes opposite-sex and same-sex couples and mixed groups hooked together like train cars. One of the main components of freaking is that it's perfectly okay for a stranger to come up and grab somebody by the hipbones and just start humping away. I've never seen this firsthand, but if you ask me, it sounds pretty much like the monkey house at the zoo.

Now that I've got this new information, I think Wilson started out with a decent-enough goal, but she failed in the execution. If the idea is to stop kids from freak dancing in the high school gym, checking their underwear is not a good way to go about it. I spent four years in high school and nearly 20 years playing guitar in redneck bars. Believe me when I tell you: At any big gathering of high schoolers or young adults, there will be a fair amount of sex going on. We all know what goes on in the cars, bathrooms, and broom closets. A few of us even know what goes on in the high school auditorium, a dark cavern of echoes, sumptuous curtains, and easily managed ladders, ropes, and pulleys -- a compelling tableau of danger and sexual adventure that some might find irresistible.

Once that resistance is gone, I promise that the scope, intensity, and frequency of the sex will not be affected by the girl's underwear. I don't care if you put a girl in great big grandma parachute panties and Elmer's-glue 'em to her behind. If she's got her mind made up, that won't stop her. In fact, I can personally guarantee it will motivate her.

But here's what I want to know: How did it become cool for teenagers to lap-dance strangers at the high school dance and hump each others' behinds right there in front of Rita Wilson and everybody? I've heard all the usual excuses, which include a general coarsening of the culture, the adolescent need to shock their parents' generation, MTV, Abercrombie & Fitch, and all the rest.

I've got my own idea: This freak dancing is the direct result of some sorry-ass daddying. It's a bad day when we let our sons go to a dance and dry-hump their classmates, and it's a worse day yet when we let our daughters walk out the door dressed like pole dancers on their way to getting dry-humped at the school gym.

I should've known this day was coming a few years back when I saw a little boy walk into a batting cage and stand right on home plate, where he immediately got clobbered with a 70-mph ball, which sent him crying to his mama. Clearly, we daddies are not explaining all the stuff that needs explaining.

I don't really want to do it, but I'm going to volunteer to chaperone some school dances. Not just at my kid's school but at the schools she might visit. If I see any of you dancing boys start simulating sex with a girl on the dance floor, the next sensation you feel will be my hand on your shoulder. Trust me, I'll be killing your buzz one way or another. If you and your girlfriend are up to some mutual something, take it to the auditorium, where I don't have to look at it.

Best I can tell, schoolhouses tend to be a little short of sensible alpha males. So I invite like-minded daddies to join me at the school dances. If the kids behave themselves, we can just lean up against the wall and talk sports. But if the kids go all zoo-monkey on us, it might take a few of us to clear the room.

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