Hello? Is this customer service?
LATE IN THE DAY,
I talk to God. I find that right around Happy Hour is the best time to reach him. He picks up on the first ring.
Q: This new kid you sent, this bonus baby ...
A: Congratulations, by the way.
Q: Thank you. For everything. But this new kid, he’s 3 now.
A: I know. I was there.
Q: He has George Peppard’s haircut and Katie Couric’s smile. Frankly, I’m a little worried.
A: Why is that?
Q: When he burps, he blesses himself.
A: No big deal.
Q: And he has his mother’s golf swing.
A: I’m sorry. There’s only so much I can do.
Q: The other day, I noticed that his freckles are incomplete. On his nose, there’s this little sprinkling that looks like the Big Dipper.
A: You must be so proud.
Q: Yes. But there are other things. When he intends to say “ball,” he instead says “Paul,” which is the name of one of my friends. “Daddy, want to kick Paul?” he’ll ask. “Yes,” I’ll answer.
A: I know. Sometimes I want to kick Paul too.
Q: I try to help the toddler sound it out. “B-B-baaaaaall,” I’ll say. And he responds:
“B-B-Paaaaaaul.”
A: That’s a problem we’re working on. We’ll have an upgrade out soon.
Q: And his lovely sisters ...
A: Yes?
Q: They don’t speak to me much lately.
A: Congratulations.
Q: You know, at first that would seem like a good thing. But believe it or not, I miss their contralto sounds. Like birds in the trees.
A: All daughters are gifts.
Q: Yes, the kind you can’t return.
A: So what’s the problem?
Q: They used to wake me in the morning by begging for money and telling me how lame my clothes were. Strangely, I miss that.
A: Trust me. As a father, I can assure you that will never end.
Q: And their mother ...
A: One of my better works.
Q: I know, I know. She’s my
Da Vinci.
A: Mine too.
Q: Thing is, I think my
Da Vinci might be a little menopausal.
A: Why is that?
Q: She is seldom pleased and occasionally hysterical.
A: That’s not menopause.
Q: It’s not?
A: No. That’s motherhood.
Q: Now, about my older son ...
A: The tall, lanky one?
Q: Yeah, him. When he hurls a fastball, it hurts my hand. It’s like catching lightning bolts in a tin cup.
A: How’s his curve?
Q: It comes in a side door. Like a cat burglar.
A: And your question is?
Q: Is he really my son?
A: Yes. Of course.
Q: Whew. You had me worried.
A: Is there anything else? The pope’s on Line 1. NBC is on Line 2.
Q: Can you send us back
DiMaggio?
A: Sorry.
Q: What about the Cubs? Can’t you do something for my poor Chicago Cubs?
A: I get that one all the time.
Q: And?
A: Even God has his limitations.
Chris Erskine can be reached at chris.erskine@latimes.com.
