Man of the House: Peace on Earth, good Wi-Fi to men
In my quest to be the funniest dad of all time — which is saying something, because I know several other dads who are complete cut-ups — I strive to be funny AND thought-provoking. Imagine if Lenny Bruce and Yogi Bear had children together, that would be me: furry, furious and prone to long periods of slumber. Really, it’s too bad they can’t clone me.
“Dad, you’re the funniest dad ever,” my 7-year-old is always telling me.
“Here, take this,” I say, handing him a small gratuity.
Like a lot of dads, I believe in the power of tipping. Some of the old-school fathers believe that gratuities shouldn’t be necessary, but I find that you get better service — and more grateful kids — if you slip them a fiver now and then.
“That is excellent parenting,” you’re probably saying to yourself right now, and to that I’d respond, “No, it’s just survival.” For parenting and survival are sort of intertwined. You can’t have one without the other. Like baseball and sunshine. Like almonds and wine.
But sometimes, even funny dads need to be completely serious. The other day, I helped the little guy pen a letter to Santa, the only deity he writes to on a weekly basis. As a father, I find that a letter to Santa is an excellent opportunity to reinforce some core values: the joy of giving, the importance of gratitude, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah ...
After a few minutes of careful thought, here’s what the 7-year-old came up with, totally on his own. I cannot tell you how proud this makes me feel. The magic of the holidays is evident in his every word:
Dear Santa dude,
I’ve been trying to call since Tuesday. Pick up, will you?
Look, I’m a single, unemployed 7-year-old with big dreams for Dec. 25. My dad insists that you’re an industrialist robber baron, no better than Vanderbilt or Gates, but I think you’re misunderstood and profoundly generous. Please don’t prove me wrong.
So, I’d like to make a special plea this holiday season: peace on Earth and lots of consumer electronics. As you’ll recall, we don’t even have a Playstation 3. So bring it on, big guy!
Bring on the Kindles and the laptops and the 3-D games. Dazzle me with vibrant plasma screens, Blu-ray home theaters and iPads, iPods, iPhones and iCarly.
When in doubt, go for the fastest processor speeds and maximum connectivity. I prefer touchscreens to keypads and Macs to PCs. I’m especially interested in anything that might be invented in the next two weeks.
Listen, I know you’re busy. I saw you at the mall the other day. Your body language spoke volumes. Do you struggle with depression? It’s a tough life for you seasonal workers. That’s why I’m being extra reasonable this year.
How’s your cholesterol, by the way? At your age (timeless) you need to keep an eye on that. I think I can get you a deal on some bootleg Canadian Lipitor. Remember, stress is the No. 1 killer of men over 500 years of age.
My dad is timeless too. How old is he exactly? No one knows. But he took Marie Antoinette to her high school prom. My mom, she has pictures.
While I have your full attention, how do you really feel about regifting? Never? Sometimes? Always?
What about shoplifting? Dad says this may be the first Christmas where we might have to actually steal the tree. What he’d do, he says, is dress us all in fir-colored camouflage, spray us with air freshener and send us under the Home Depot tree tent at 3 in the morning.
“Make your mother proud,” he’d say as he slowed the car and we jumped out.
So, yeah, we could use a little extra help this Christmas. My dad worries that the holiday hooch is already half gone. Mom says when his scotch runs out, she’s outta here. Dad says, “Be sure to take the dog,” which he claims reeks of stale popcorn even when he’s just been bathed. My sister says it may be his diet, since our beagle eats from the trash.
“Just like Dickens,” my big sister explains.
Speaking of sisters, maybe you could bring them a gift too. Something in a nice designer sedative?
And my big brother, he needs a front axle for his Altima. You deliver front axles with that hybrid sleigh of yours? Are there weight restrictions? And no, that’s not a comment on your girth.
You still coach the Jets, right? Kidding!!!
Anyway, thanks in advance for all you’ll do for us. Have a rockin’ good flight. And remember: Never turn your back on Blitzen.
Love always, the little guy (Los Angeles, California).
