(Izzy, the burger, and the #1 dad)

I’m having lunch with my son Izzy at this diner in Park Slope because I’ve decided he’s going to make a crafty Birthday card for his mom (he didn’t contribute one felt letter) and the only craft store around is in Park Slope. We’ve taken the day off because he’s sort of sick and I get to take care of him. Which is fine, because he doesn’t seem all that sick minus the hot forehead and occasional elbow cough. We’re eating lunch when these two guys come in and sit down behind me. One is older and is either a cop, a foreman or in the mob. Or both. Or all three. He’s pretty animated and he’s got a thick LI or Brooklyn accent. He likes the spice on the burger. “What is the SPICE on this? I mean I love it. Just neva had a burger like this.” I’m assuming the guy with him is his partner.

I’ve been chatting with Izzy throughout lunch about this/that and it’s time to get the check. Certainly nothing out of the norm. Occasionally, I space out and consider grabbing the NY Post sitting on the counter like any other normal dad. But that would be rude so we chat. I give the waiter my card and Izzy asks why. Which is normal because he asks “why” about 25 times a day (much less than his 2.5 year old brother who asks why about 100 times that). But this isn’t one of those “why did those fireman die in 9/11?”[1] or “why are there rainbows?” [2] type “why” questions. It’s a pretty straightforward one. It’s a credit card and it’s how I pay for things I don’t need. Pretty simple really. He takes it so they can charge me for the 1/4 of the burger you ate. I guess this Dorothy Parkensian conversation finally got to the big guy behind us, because he goes, “That your kid?” and I’m like “Uh, yeah (mind racing with possible never responses).”

“Because, it’s not often you hear a dad talk to his kid like that.” He’s being nice but it’s fucking offensive. Then he introduces me to the guy sitting with him as HIS 24 year old son. And he says it gets better. The older they get the less you have to deal with them. And I’m thinking JESUS FUCKING CHRIST; I can’t imagine how little attention you must’ve paid to your son make you think that a father sporadically talking to his son was a potential kidnapping in progress.

So we pay up. I’m putting Izzy’s jacket on and I wipe his ketchup face, I mean he’s still five and sort of sick, I’m helping out, Christ. Then #1 Dad asks me if I’m a SINGLE DAD!!!

And I tell him, I am now. His mother/my wife and his younger sister were killed in a car crash six weeks ago, and this was the first time we’ve gone out.

I didn’t, but COME THE FUCK ON!! I couldn’t tell if he was trying to compliment me or emasculate me. Is paying attention to your child on a one-on-one lunch this fucking out of the ordinary? Certainly not in Park Slope. He’s lucky I wasn’t breast-feeding him.

Of course I puss out and I laugh when he asks me if I’m a single dad and we joke that I’m not and I’m not normally this nice to the kid. He just caught me in a moment of weakness.

The End

[1] Because four guys flew two planes into the World Trade Center and it caught on fire and collapsed. Always a fun one to answer. That’s the abridged version.

[2] I have absolutely no idea.


2 Responses to “FATHER SON OUTING”

  1. Ty Says:

    “That your kid?”

    Sucker punch to the throat, “Yep.”

    The end.

  2. Benjamin Says:

    Great post.

    I hate those fucks. LEAVE ME ALONE, why all the fucking questions? no it’s not my kid – i’m holding it for the gay moms who own it while they go to the holiday inn and diddle each others cuntclits.

    Hey, lemme ask YOU a question mr. foreman – what’s it like to eat a dick? that the first dick you’ve eaten? you single and gay, right?

    Same kinda people who see you when you’re with your wife without the kids every 6 months and go “WELL WHERE ARE THE KIDS?!”

    oh shit! you’re right! the kids! how could we forget!? they’re tied up while the dykes finish diddling their clits.

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