After careful search of my family genealogy, I have determined beyond unreasonable doubt that I am the bastard son of this guy, the product of a 1957 early morning tryst with a very inebriated Omega Chi in the visitors end zone (no pun intended) of the University of Michigan’s “Big House”. My research has further indicated that immediately following my birth to said U of M Omega Chi, I was accepted as a marker on a bet won by a certain University of Oklahoma marching band trombone player immediately following the Wolverine’s lopsided loss to the Sooners that year. That marker was never cashed. Although I was lovingly raised by that trombone player and the woman he married that I was to know as my mother, the desire to reconnect with my true family and to have full use privileges regarding the modest boat house pictured above is of utmost importance in putting the ghosts of my past to rest. What can I say…I’m sentimental like that. I’m
lawyering lining up dates and witnesses and “arranging” DNA evidence as we speak. If he has any decency at all he will do the responsible thing and accept me as the rightful heir to his boat house… ah… I mean… his family name. After the long, heart-rending search for my biological father, I am at last about to “cash in” so to speak.
If you’re reading this mother, no offense but I always suspected that all of those home movies, pictures from family albums, and first hand accounts from “relatives” of my birth at Oklahoma City’s General Hospital were all, like the 1969 so called “moon landing”, an elaborate hoax. My distaste for okra and attraction to red plaid Woolrich hunting caps should have been an early indicator that I was in fact an uplander, but no matter. My destiny is at hand.