I Wish This Guy Was My Dad

He could teach me how to shave and at the barbecue we could play catch. When he would get home from work I would run to the door and throw my arms around him and sometimes he would hug me back and sometimes he would politely remove me and say that he needed a drink first. One day he would awkwardly sit me down and start to talk about sex but I would tell him that I already knew all that stuff and he would let out a sigh of relief and say “oh, thank God” and hurry out of the room and we would never talk about it again, although later in life, when we were both adults, at a restaurant or something, he might nudge me with his elbow if a beautiful woman walked in and we’d look at each other and he’d wink and it would be kind of gross but also charming, like, sure, Dad, totally. When he and my mom would get divorced, I would pity him, and I would never particularly like the woman he remarries, but by that point I will be old enough that it won’t matter. He would like to eat ice cream while watching the evening news. He would smell faintly of cigars even though to the best of my knowledge I never ever saw him smoke one. And the dancing. Always the dancing. (Thanks for the tip, werttrew.)