Oh, So You’re My Dad
Ugh. This sucks.
A child is born and a man wearing a Winona State University t-shirt holds the wee babe to his chest. He is happy, looks around the room with gratitude in his heart. The baby has questions.
“Hey, wait. Why aren’t you Tom Brady?”
“Oh, hello. I don’t know, daughter. I’m, uh, Rick. I’m your dad.”
“WHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!”
[lowers head, sighs] “I’m sorry, Tanya. I wish I were Tom Brady, too.”
“WHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!! My name is dumb.”
[feeling of gratitude leaves the room and heads south for the winter]
“It was your grandmother’s name.
“I’m sure she was a real angel, Ken.”
“It’s, Rick. You sure are having a hard time with all your emotions, little lady.”
“I’ve been here 15 minutes.”
“Yeah, well…”
“I’m learning how to breathe air and working on being alive but at least I have some hair. What’s your excuse?”
“I, umm, well, that’s your grandfather’s fault.”
For a few moments, the delivery room is filled with sweet silence. And then:
