When I was in high school I used to be terrified of my girlfriend's  father, who I believe suspected me of wanting to place my hands on his  daughter's chest. He would open the door and immediately affect a  good-naturely murderous expression, holding out a handshake that, when  gripped, felt like it could squeeze carbon into diamonds Now, years later, it is my turn to be the dad. Remembering how unfairly  persecuted I felt when I would pick up my da …