What a Nice Guy by Phil Torcivia

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

Twisted Branches

I just found out I have (another) half-sister. Thanks to the wonders of Facebook, my big sis contacted me today. She was worried I’d be upset. Why would I be? My branch of the family tree stops here so I’m all for other buds and branches, especially when they’re not embarrassed by my raunchy humor.

My sister called today and we had a nice conversation. She recognized me from my pictures and said her son resembles me. He is quite a handsome dude, but I can’t tell if somebody looks like me. I had a coworker tell me I resembled Scott Hamilton. No offense, Scotty Boy, but I can’t find a compliment anywhere in that analogy. Oh, and I can’t skate any better than you can throw a baseball.

I wasn’t shocked by the sibling discovery because Pop was a notorious socialite. Seems he had a little tryst (before he married my mother) with a buddy’s wife, got her preggo, and her husband insisted they give up the baby for adoption to save the marriage. It was over fifty years ago so I’m sure the facts have been distorted. Still, any discovery of stray DNA is cool even if it was spread carelessly.

Don’t you ever wonder about undiscovered relatives?

Men always kid each other about mysterious offspring we may have roaming the earth. Sure, it’s possible. I’ve had a few oopsies in my days—a broken rubber here, a slipped rubber there, a pullout that wasn’t quite on time here, and a forgot-to-take-the-pill-just-one-time there. I do cringe with every Facebook friend request, though. I’m not sure my monitor could withstand my reaction to a “Hi, Dad!”

Well, at least I don’t have to worry now that I have been fixed. I’m dropping off my sample this week to make sure I’m all clear. No demon seeds will come from this little devil, just demon semen. I’ll let my distant DNA carriers take care of the spreading.

We’re approaching the days when our DNA will be obsolete anyway. Parents will fill out an online order, scientists will flip a few switches, and ship frozen embryos made to order. Men will all be designed to grow over six feet tall with square jaws and full heads of hair. Women will have almond eyes, long necks, and flawless skin. As it is now, it will be up to the parents to distort the perfect creation with fast food and guilt as well as the scientists, doctors, and drug companies to sedate them.

Whatever. I must contend with my own issues. Therapist is one shitty position I won’t assume at any price.

The latest tally shows that I have three half-sisters, four adopted siblings, numerous nephews and nieces, and this cute little mole next to my right nipple. As life goes on and the world continues shrinking, I’m sure I’ll make more discoveries. If those discoveries include a place that serves gnocchi in a spicy tomato sauce and velvety, red wine, I’ll be tickled burgundy.

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