I’ve been writing this column about my family now for seven years. Because I’m usually the butt of the joke (I call it “Father Knows Nothing” for a reason), I’ve gotten almost no resistance from my wife and kids about putting the personal details of our life out there for all to see. They trust me to be responsible. I’m especially careful about what I divulge when I’m not the butt of the joke. I show it to that week’s butt, and give the butt full veto power.
Up until this week, only one column had ever been vetoed. (My wife vetoed a column about her driving abilities. I still say that was one of my funniest columns ever, but you’ll never read it.) Considering I’ve written 350 columns, only being vetoed once is a pretty darn good record.
But this week two hilarious things happened in my house to two different sons, and both boys forbade me from writing about it. I felt like a batter in a baseball game being ordered to take the first two pitches, even though they were fastballs right down the middle.
The first incident involved a toilet. I know. Comedy gold, right?
I can understand why that particular son was embarrassed by it, but… Sorry, I have to stop right there. The only person that has been authorized to get further details about this incident is the plumber, and only because he needs to know what happened to fix the situation.
This is killing me.
The second vetoed column idea involved a father-son conversation about girls. It was really my very first father-son conversation about this subject with two willing participants (father AND son). During this conversation, I learned some incredibly hilarious terminology that was completely foreign to me. I learned that…doggone it. I have to stop right there.
I know that being a certain age makes everything embarrassing, but please stop throwing me fastballs when I’ve been given the take sign by the third base coach. You know how much I love to hit fastballs. I only have so much willpower.
Remember too, that even though I have given full veto power to prevent me from writing about these events, there’s nothing that can stop me from telling people if I meet them in real life. I mean, I’ll more than likely control myself. I’m not completely unable to do that. Unless I’ve had a few drinks. But even then, I’ll probably still control myself. Of course, if someone offers to buy me a drink only if I reveal one or both of these hilarious stories, what am I supposed to do? I don’t want to be rude.
Rest assured, however, that no amount of liquoring me up will force me to reveal the details of the column about my wife’s driving abilities. That would be wrong.
Unless we’re 100% certain she’s not in the room.