A Father's Love

Someday, this story will be an After-School Special, or perhaps the centerpiece of a Hallmark Movie of the Week:

It was the night before my son's birthday, and I sat down with him on his bed to give him "the talk."

"Son," I said.  "Tomorrow you will be ten years old.  Double digits.  And I'm going to tell you something that I've been waiting to share with you for your whole life."

His eyes got wide.  "Yeah, dad?"

"There's something you don't know about me," I said.

"What's that?" he whispered.

"I'm not who you think I am."

"Who..." he gulped.  "Who are you?"

I took his hand, tenderly.  "I'm actually a space alien, and I've been fattening you up to eat you, and now that you're ten you're finally tender and delicious enough.  So tonight, while you sleep, I'm going to come in here and carve you up and eat you."

And then I raised up his arm and bit him.

"DAAAAAAD!" 

I laughed, and laughed, and laughed.  And he punched me, which usually I object to, but I figure that's probably a reasonable response to such a discussion.

Then about five minutes later I came back, with a carving knife, and I yelled "Dinnertime!"

"DAAAAAAD!"

And he would have punched me, but I got away.

Then I came in, one last time, and I said "hey, we forgot to pray tonight." 

"We did pray!" he insisted.

"Well, let's pray again, just in case," I said.  "God is great, God is good, let us thank him for our food!"

"DAAAAAAAAD!  You're wilding me up!  If I'm bouncing off the walls it's your fault!"

"Don't bounce off the walls," I cautioned.  "That would be bad."

"It's your fault!" he insisted.

"Yeah, but it'll make you all stringy and tough."

"DAAAAAAD!"

Now that, friends, is comedy.