Family Guy.

“Hi Andrew. I’m your dad.” That’s how my father greets me pretty much every time we talk, across the seas, in his thick Greek accent. If his English were a little more refined, he would say: “Andrew, this is your father.” But if he said it like that he would sound like a goofy Greek version of Darth Vader. Also, every time we talk he tells me to be careful. “Andrew. Be very careful in everything you do.” I’m a bastard child and live up to the name pretty frequently. It took me years to figure out that what my father was really trying to tell me was to wrap up my wiener so I don’t get some woman pregnant and end up with a kid that I won’t get to meet till he’s 16 years old and already a man. He was dishonest about my existence with his new wife and the children she bore him, and he paid for it, like we all pay for our lies. He has made reparations to his now ex-wife, and with his other children he is the most devoted, hard-working father I have ever seen. Even with me, he calls more regularly than anyone in the family who raised me. I’ve never seen a man so full of love and madness. The Greeks are a wild bunch, and my father is king of the crazies. He stalks the streets of Athens with sweaty pits. We have run together through the streets trying to get me my Citizenship. So it goes in Hellas, and I am my fathers’ son. God bless the Greeks and all Ubermensch. Aloha.