(Synopsis of little Butchy's first day on the planet)
"He Looks just like the father," proclaimed the nurse to me and my friend Jerry whose office,from which we had just come, (it being a few blocks from the hospital) having learned of the arrival of little Butchy, even though I had been assured by the doctor that it would be several hours before the blessed event, when I had dropped his (soon to be) mother off, having been given the option of hanging around in the stairwell (in that there was no waiting room at the U of I Hospital in April of 1967) or returning to our apartment where our dog, Dude, who was known for indoor defecation and subsequent ingestion of his own feces, could be 'let out', thus eliminating the need to address his odious breath, not to mention what surely must have been a psychological nightmare for him, and having been convinced by Butchy's mother-to-be (my first former wife) that she and he would be 'just fine' (though she never forgave me for not 'being there' at his birth) had in fact 'let the dog out', gone to Jerry's office (the phone number of which I had given to the doctor) to wait out the 'several hours, returned to the hospital and now found myself looking at little Butchy's rather substantial 9lb-6oz body, big blue eyes and rather large hooked nose (not unlike my friend Jerry's nose). I said, (to the nurse) "I'm the father." She paused (not for an uncomfortably long time) and said, "That's what I meant." It seems like only yesterday (well maybe several weeks ago), (maybe 46 years ago).
(Synopsis of little Butchy's first day on the planet)
ReplyDelete"He Looks just like the father," proclaimed the nurse to me and my friend Jerry whose office,from which we had just come,
(it being a few blocks from the hospital) having learned of the arrival of little Butchy, even though I had been assured by the
doctor that it would be several hours before the blessed event, when I had dropped his (soon to be) mother off, having been
given the option of hanging around in the stairwell (in that there was no waiting room at the U of I Hospital in April of 1967)
or returning to our apartment where our dog, Dude, who was known for indoor defecation and subsequent ingestion of his
own feces, could be 'let out', thus eliminating the need to address his odious breath, not to mention what surely must have
been a psychological nightmare for him, and having been convinced by Butchy's mother-to-be (my first former wife) that she
and he would be 'just fine' (though she never forgave me for not 'being there' at his birth) had in fact 'let the dog out', gone to
Jerry's office (the phone number of which I had given to the doctor) to wait out the 'several hours, returned to the hospital and
now found myself looking at little Butchy's rather substantial 9lb-6oz body, big blue eyes and rather large hooked nose
(not unlike my friend Jerry's nose). I said, (to the nurse) "I'm the father." She paused (not for an uncomfortably long time) and
said, "That's what I meant." It seems like only yesterday (well maybe several weeks ago), (maybe 46 years ago).
Daddy