reacted the way you'd expect a first time father who had carelessly impregnated a happily-married, interior decorator wife and mother would--I celebrated with a night of mangy strippers, $2 highballs and mid-grade recreational Angel Dust with a few former frat brothers and a too-eager-to-please second alternate from my racquetball league named Sanjay.
And, I must admit, not getting to know my son has been a magnificent, intensely impersonal experience. A watershed, coming of age crossroads for a life that had theretofore been all too consumed with pomade, dwarf-smut, rhinestones and emotional ships in bottles.
When I don't hold him close, I wonder aloud what kind of a man that calls himself his father he has. And whether my boy is getting the same special brand of love and adoration that I have no business or predisposition to provide him with. My mind swims.
Will he find his way in life without a role model such as I to teach him the proper manner to spring the Popcorn Trick on a lucky, yet unsuspecting, young lass?
Is it likely that he will understand that raging kleptomania is a sacred right of passage into the elite, secret society that is adulthood?
Will he one day realize the complete and utter sense of relief that I feel each time I look in my spare bedroom and see a pair of curvy 19 year old Danish Au Pairs lounging where his sweet crib might have been?
The answer is surely nay to all questions. But I still want him to know someday that his father loves him so very much, and has endured the sad smorgasbord of emotional tribulation that comes with a cowardly denial of paternity, followed by a 12 week Sex Tour of Mazatlan.
And to his sweet, virtuous Mother I simply say thank you--for raising Denny's boy exactly the way that you've wanted to, devoid of even a modicum of parental influence from me above my chromosomal donation that resulted from a borderline anonymous, six minute rut-fest in your Buick after an Uncle Cracker show.
I just hope that I can live up to the lofty filial standards that you have surely set for me. Time will tell.
I love you, Ben.
Oh. I mean Bryan.