My wife and I have a running joke about my son. You see, he looks nothing like me. My wife says you wouldn’t know he was my son. It is true…he’s got a round face, curly hair, and big brown eyes. He’s also got something I’ll never have—a sense of rhythm and control of his body. The boy can shake what his Momma gave him…and Elvis would be proud.
While I am certain I helped make him, it is important that I make the case once and for all that he comes from me. The evidence against me might seem compelling—especially the dancing stuff—but just yesterday he did something that proves unequivocally that he is my son. Before I reveal that, let’s review my general case. Here is a list of a few similarities:
He is charming and clever. Anybody who knows me well knows I can keep a party mesmerized with my personality for hours at a time. My son has that same kind of charisma. That isn’t something you learn…it is something you are born with.
He likes to ride bikes. I swear this is the case through no influence of my own. Also, before I had a chance to voice my opinion, he told me that Alberto Contador should be sanctioned for testing positive for clenbuterol at the Tour de France, regardless of how small the amount was. He told me that the tainted meat defense was at best weak because it didn’t prove he ingested the clenbuterol accidentally…only that he could have ingested it accidentally. He cogently argued that the Spanish Cycling Federation’s acceptance of this flawed logic showed blatant favoritism borne of national pride. He called for a wholly independent body to hear doping cases and hand out sanctions. Really…and I didn’t prompt him in the least…although I have to say that he makes a compelling case.
He loves mayonnaise. If that isn’t proof positive, I don’t know what is. I love my mayo…so creamy, so versatile, the perfect condiment. My wife and daughter hate the stuff. My son, he’ll eat a mayo and lettuce sandwich. Really, he asked me to make him one just yesterday…ate the whole thing.
He can fall asleep at the drop of a hat and wakes early. I have the exact same sleep habits. I can go to sleep just about anywhere when I am tired and no matter how late I go to bed I still wake up by 7:00. His mother and sister....not so much.
He will eat anything It doesn’t matter what it is…from a turkey and pickle sandwich to roasted duck to Tandoori Chicken. If I eat it, he will, too. My wife and daughter have more discriminating, more clearly defined palates. Like me, he will eat anything. Come on, that’s got to be genetic.
As if all of that wasn’t enough, he did something yesterday that only my son would do, thereby proving that he has my brain. He and I and his sister were at the zoo. We took a lunch with us that included some potato chips. Using broken bits of potato chip bits he spelled his name. No one suggested it, no one talked about it. He just did it.
As a kid, I was known for…well…similar kinds of eccentricities. I once mowed my name in the lawn when I was supposed to be cutting the grass. When I was a kid I collected miniature beer bottles, had a tin foil ball I added to regularly, and made up words and used them in everyday speech. My son collects empty soda cans and sticks and makes up words for things he doesn’t know the word for and then uses them in everyday speech as if we all know what he is talking about. I am telling you, he is a mad genius…just like me.
