Daniel…I am your Father!
The above photo is of myself and my new son, Daniel Harrison Binns. On the whole, fatherhood suits me. He shares many of my facial features, yet somehow he manages to make them work for him on a level that I have yet to master. What I have found in my limited time in Daddy’s chair is that the miracle of birth is not actually in birth itself. Rather it lies in the fact that this small creature does everything in its power to make you hate it, screaming, defecating, depriving you of sleep and yet it has the complete opposite effect. In fact, you love it more. I found myself congratulating him on the sizable fart he let go right on top of my hand. I have a LOT of close friends, but the first one who farts on my hand gets a punch in the mouth. Yet, I was weirdly proud.
Now as a comedian recently turned father I feel I must make a solemn promise…NEVER to resort to easy diaper jokes to get cheap laughs. It is a vow I intend to keep…
Right after this…
Two days after birth, my son shat something from an H.P. Lovecraft novel. To look at it directly would cause madness. This tiny little man unleashed the Elder gods from his bowels, pitch black, devoid of hope. Wipe one section, and more would come creeping back.
Cthpooloo.
The Diaperwhich Horror.
It was like the Venom Symbiote, (only it had more charisma than Topher Grace. ZING POW!!!) The very same primordial ooze, I’m sure that caused many a dinosaur to become hopelessly mired and eventually fuel my Hyundai accent.
Shit was black and sticky, and full of unholy milk curds, and should I ever see that again I will consider trading him in for another model.
But on the whole, we are having a good time I think… his whistling lessons are going well…
And in an effort to establish a routine I have begun reading to him. I am aware his comprehension level is about the same as a sentient cloud that everybody always tries to make friends with on some of the more annoying Star Trek episodes. However he knows my voice, and it’s never too early…you never know what will stick with him.
That’s how I came to read “Goodnight Moon” for the first time….which is simply RIVITING by the way. I’m like “Oh my God…who is he going to say goodnight to next?” This is also how I came to discover that Curious George is a metaphor for the American slave trade.
Think about it . A little brown African, happily living his life in his country is lured out into the open by a white man…then STUFFED IN A SACK and sent to America on a SHIP against his will.
He is even referred to as THE MAN at several points in the book. Curious George was captured by THE MAN…his shenanigans, merely a way of trying to gain his freedom back before being sent to rot in a zoo. Repressed. By THE MAN. The only way it could be more clear is if the Man in the Yellow Hat Hobbled George after the Fire truck incident. Curious George…putting the “H.A. RAY” in “Racism.”
And that Correctness faithful is why you have heard so little of me. That and the fact that I have NO IDEA where to put him down.
I’ve been holding him like this for three weeks.
