It seems like every time I mention to a girl that I’d be a horrible father, they always disagree with me. Well, I thought it would be best to illustrate my point with the following hypothetical scenario:
So there I am, sitting in my big chair, reading the morning paper (because that’s what fathers do), when my five-year-old son comes up to me and tugs on my shirt.
“Daddy?”
I cringe. “Yes, Mortimer?” (The name was her idea.)
“I’m gonna be a astronaut!”
I lower my paper and look down at the kid. He’s the spitting image of his father. What a shame. “An astronaut? Are you sure?”
He nods in that childlike way. “Uh huh. And I’m gonna be the bestest astronaut in the whole world!”
“Best. The word is best. Not bestest. Do you have any idea what it takes to be an astronaut?”
He just looks at me and turns his head from side to side.
“Well, neither do I. But it isn’t easy. I mean, first you have all that training you have to endure. They stick you in this little capsule and spin you around until you skin stretches out and you look like Jabba The Hut.”
“Jabba da hud?”
“Uh, remind me to rent the Star Wars trilogy for you. In any case, you’d be up there in space with nobody around. And you’d have to drink your own urine.”
“Urine?”
“Pee pee.”
“Ewww”
“Right. I mean, people go insane up there. Not to say that you shouldn’t have dreams. But maybe you should stick to more realistic ones, like a teacher or a short-order cook.”
He looks up at me with sad eyes.
“Look, I just don’t want you to set your heart on being in space only to be disappointed later. Then again, I don’t want to discourage you from pursuing your dreams. Crap. Where’s your mother?”
I rest my case.
18 Comments