Best dinner ever

Another holiday has come and gone and nothing says holiday inquisition like a table filled with food and questions about parenting like I was subject to yesterday.

Here is how it played out and if you are familiar with Nuremburg or the Hague or any number of bogus trials you already know how sitting in front of a bunch of opinionated and angry people can lead to uncomfortable silences and ruined pumpkin pie eating. So it probably was at the dinner table with Hitler and so it was at Thanksgiving when my 17 or so children decided, some with their mouths full, that I was the worst father in history.

Now, imagine my surprise, because there have been some terrible fathers in history and mind you Donald Trump still is alive.

No, these children, some of which sprang from my very loins, took it upon themselves to claim that I, their diminutive father, was part abusive jerk and part verbally assaulting Neanderthal. I have no shame when admitting I was not a perfect father, heck, I was the father who accidentally left two young children at a “coffee shop” in Amsterdam for two weeks while I got stoned and enjoy “art” with a beautiful European super model. I was the “father” who took the kids on a Volkswagon bus tour of the west coast, which included nude beaches in Washington State, Oregon and at least 7 beaches in California. I may have also been the father who sold one or two of my children into white salvery to the failed Romney campaign.

So, without admitting guilt, something I learned to do from not more than 4 lawyers, I can say (this was cleared by my non-Jewish lawyer) that I was indeed not the best father, but that did not protect me from the abuse I received while serving these “children” a dinner of tofurkey and steak. I sat at the head of the table and listened for hours as child after child listed grievance after grievance, something about leaving them alone for months at a time, feeding them nothing by hot baby formula and cocaine and for my Native American son Geronimo he even claimed that I stole his room and allowed industrialists to ruin it with mining, timber harvesting and oil production. To this charge I, of course said, “cry me a river.”

All in all, it was the best thanksgiving ever.