Saturday, June 18, 2011

Classic Denny Dance: Father's Day Redux

When I found out last year that you were with child I reacted the way you'd expect a first time father who had carelessly impregnated a happily-married, interior decorator wife and mother would--I celebrated with a night of mangy strippers, $2 highballs and mid-grade recreational Angel Dust with a few former frat brothers and a too-eager-to-please second alternate from my racquetball league named Sanjay.

And, I must admit, not getting to know my son has been a magnificent, intensely impersonal experience.  A watershed, coming of age crossroads for a life that had theretofore been all too consumed with pomade, dwarf-smut, rhinestones and emotional ships in bottles.

When I don't hold him close, I wonder aloud what kind of a man that calls himself his father he has. And whether my boy is getting the same special brand of love and adoration that I have no business or predisposition to provide him with. My mind swims.

Will he find his way in life without a role model such as I to teach him the proper manner to spring the Popcorn Trick on a lucky, yet unsuspecting, young lass?

Is it likely that he will understand that raging kleptomania is a sacred right of passage into the elite, secret society that is adulthood?

Will he one day realize the complete and utter sense of relief that I feel each time I look in my spare bedroom and see a pair of curvy 19 year old Danish Au Pairs lounging where his sweet crib might have been?

The answer is surely nay to all questions.  But I still want him to know someday that his father loves him so very much, and has endured the sad smorgasbord of emotional tribulation that comes with a cowardly denial of paternity, followed by a 12 week Sex Tour of Mazatlan.

And to his sweet, virtuous Mother I simply say thank you--for raising Denny's boy exactly the way that you've wanted to, devoid of even a modicum of parental influence from me above my chromosomal donation that resulted from a borderline anonymous, six minute rut-fest in your Buick after an Uncle Cracker show.

I just hope that I can live up to the lofty filial standards that you have surely set for me.  Time will tell.

I love you, Ben.

Oh.  I mean Bryan.

Vicariously,
Denny DelVecchio

9 comments:

Penelope said...

Mr. D, it would be an *honor* to be your Baby Mama. An honor. Yours in Christ, Penny

blunt delivery said...

oh Denny...


you can be my daddy any day.

Penelope said...

OK, so, I read my comment up above some time after I wrote it and I'm all, "Huh. That doesn't sound funny at the end, just weird." And then I start thinking about it and I decide that 1. I wish I could undo. 2. People should *start* joking about that. and 3. Uhhhh. I don't know.

Anyway, the first sentiment totally still stands (obvs) and let's redo the second line, shall we?

Yours in Satan - Penny
xoxo

There. Better.

pattypunker said...

mickey rourke makes me pomade in my panties.

Anonymous said...

You fucking suck scrotum.

singlegirlie said...

Happy belated Father's Day, Denny. For future reference, I can perform a vasectomy with a pair of tweezers and a barrette.

womenarefrommars said...

I think "Yours in Christ" sounds funny. It's the innuendo no one sees coming because you're supposedly all Christian or something.

(Ha ha... I said "coming").

Happy belated Father's Day, Double D. You can Popcorn Trick me any time. I like spontaneity.

Denny DelVecchio said...

@Single: Please send me a pair of your unwashed underthings. The last pair accidentally got into my laundry.

@Mars: How's 9:30?

justmakingconvo.com said...

Sigh...Oh Denny, you're the only one who knows how to get my maternal clock ticking.