Bonding over fatherhood sounds way better than reasons my love story, falling for fatherhood is needed. So here we go Random House, Penguin Books, the one guy who still puts out a new book of poetry a year for the big, bad, Bukowski.
Just to clarify fans, WordPress peeps, new readers, I’m officially done writing my debut parenting humor book Stay At Home Comedian, controlling my kids through comedy. How 3 kids got my act together. I closed my book on fatherhood being a do over life improver of the highest order with: “No, He’s My Daddy.” To celebrate the impending 5th birthday of my son Arthur Morrison Kornbluth. Who loves to proclaim with crystal clear jubilee I was born on News Years Day. He’s already to play the kid lead in Kindergarten Cop. I still couldn’t spell Kindergarten without spell checker if my life depended on it. Arthur stayed up to 12:05 AM this year at home with my wife and his big sister Matilda Singing Rose. Baby Samuel crashed on mama’s boob 15 minutes before midnight. Which worked out beautifully because I was able to lunge birthday boy high up in the air at 12AM, point at the TV in Times Square and proclaim: “Everyone there is celebrating your birthday.” Even the Alt Right because your Aryan looks throw them off completely. Not that the Alt Right would usher in the new year, partying in my city, Jew York ever but I digress.
We saw the Harlem Globetrotters earlier in the evening. It was fun but even I can look athletic dunking off a trampoline. Also, when mascots have been dunking off trampolines on a regular basis for half time entertainment since Patrick Ewing lost to Villanova. It loses its luster when sports entertainment professionals like the modern day Globetrotters perform ariel dunks during the actual 2nd half of the game, which isn’t too divorced from standard basketball game playing reality. Harlem Globetrotters using a trampoline in the game is like the high flying Jimmy Snuka of old at the Westchester Country Center, jumping off the top turnbuckle with a rocket launcher on his back. Or Tito Santana downing Mexican Jumping Beans before whipping Greg the Hammer Valentine into the ropes before launching into blockhead blondie with his infamous flying elbow drop. Which couldn’t put a dent in a Pinata if his Intercontinental belt for 2 days was riding on it.
Also, at camp when I saw the Harlem Globetrotters, I don’t recall the sports entertainment event being 75% crowd work. If I knew this is what the Harlem Globetrotters act had become, I would’ve saved my family the money and did an open mike in the village for old times sake like the Marvelous Mrs. Maisel and get in five minutes of stage time on my own. Assuming, my wife was cool with me leaving her behind with the 3 kids. So, I could come back home 4 hours later. And say to my kids. What did daddy do tonight? In unison, they say, “daddy killed.” Baby says “ball.” From there I go in for an Avalanche hug. My wife hates that. Also ever notice how the Marvelous Mrs. Maisel always has undefined babysitting assistance?
The worst part about New Years this year was hearing about my parents new tradition on New Years Eve over the phone on New Years Day. Which includes writing each other letters, listing the highlights of their year. I wonder if not calling me on my birthday because they we’re in Israel cracked the top ten. I hate how Baby Boomers go out of their way to justify their existence as retirees. Doing their resistor best to act as if their lives are so much more happiness filled, outside of being involved loving grandparents. Especially, when you know hours of CNN listening doesn’t translate into meaningful think tank participation either. Especially, when they’re burnt out on another indoor summer in Arizona, 7 years and counting. I wonder if one of my parents highlights was Jim Acosta getting his press credentials restored to play activist reporter resister on their behalf. Did you toast in the New Year? My mom asks in typical patronizing fashion. She’s not really interested but I know my readers are. So what did I do on New Years Eve? I watched Crazy Rich Asians reluctantly with my wife feeling smug superior because I couldn’t write dialogue this boring if I tried. Where’s Bobby Lee from Mad TV when you need him the most? So I slammed a delectable, plumptastic array of American, big deal personality forward IPA’s throughout the night because my winter purfication started today. Because I had some beer leftover yesterday and I thought it would be in my wife’s best debloating interests, to drink the remainder of our high calorie IPA bombs on her behalf.
Enduring my wife’s lambasting me for blowing a fortune on my son’s birthday balloon collection because she questioned whether we had any money for it. Knowing full and well, I was also celebrating me finishing my 1st book ever. Waxing poetic, delivering oversized heart, charm and ample servings of yanker laugh out loud humor in my do it all dad year, bonding over fatherhood book for the ages. My wife’s decision to be mean spirited and petty on the eve of my son’s 5th birthday after she knows full and well, I’m in the submit, score an agent now time, after the Good Men Project will be publishing more of my chapters in the new year was infuriating to the maximum degree to say the least. Do It All Tip” Woman either still believe in you making it happen or don’t. Mine falls into the later camp obviously. It’s a shame, but nothing some more IPA’s couldn’t resolve on my glorious night hoisting my beautiful boy up high, to celebrate the unlimited promise for brighter, more long lasting triumphant tomorrows.
Arthur gave me some real nice punch hugs at the Harlem Globe Trotters show. He appreciated the gesture of Daddy pushing for us to go there. He got into the dance for YMCA. It was his first grown up, sports event crowd, participation moment. Which put a boyish, 5 year smile imprint on my heart to cherish forevermore. Arthur loves all his balloons. He popped almost every single one by humping them to death. It remined of when he mounted my wife’s friend in Maine from behind as she showed her downward dog pose. He was 2 then yet he wrapped his arms around her legs in an excitable, get down way unseen before.
Arthur has a new friend from Pre-K named Shawn, who he’s inviting to his follow up friend birthday party in 2 weeks. First, when he told me about his new bud, it sounded like he was saying Fawn. So I played speech coach and we worked on it together in the car on his way to prek today. “Arthur say, Shawn Kamp, Shawn Wayans, Sean Austin Greene. Arthur, the Harlem Globe Trotters could’ve done a whole lot more of what? And he says “shake and bake, Shawn.” My boy is all grownz up and he’s all grownz up. Without my beard I still get confused for a pre-bloated Vince Vince Vaughn, pre-insomniac. So why does the world need my book black editor at large? Who thinks Kayne West is a fearless genius like myself? Because the world needs a book about bonding over fatherhood. Which gives thanks and praises to our children. Who due to the grace of God, have unfurled, the sweetest, funniest, strongest, most giving versions of ourselves. Making us prideful, emoting, do it all dads feel like All Star human beings in this crazy old world for a change.