I am a Godparent. Not by choice or anything. I accepted under duress … and I was drunk at the time.
Four years ago, my dear friend Kiki called me one night while I was partying like a rock star in Tahoe. Since Kiki never calls me – I immediately assumed something was amiss. Turns out, I was right. She opened with pleasantries, “How are you? What are you doing?” To which I responded, “I’m drinking and gambling and smoking in Lake Tahoe! It’s awesome.”
After an odd 30-seconds of silence, she then said, “Okay – well, that notwithstanding, would you like to be the Godfather of my unborn child?”
Silence on my end. I accepted days later — but only after I realized I wasn’t going to be the kid’s legal guardian. Whew. Dodged a bullet on THAT one. Of course, if I didn’t accept, I assumed God would smite me down for being a sodomite.)
Three years later, my Godson loves me. Why? Because I’m urban and trendy and when it comes down to it – he knows he resembles me more than his 7″9′ father. We have a lot in common. He tends to throw temper tantrums only slightly more often than me. He has an enormous appetite. We are natural toe-headed blondes. He’s in to clothes as much as I am. (Note the onesie I sent for his christening …)
I never realized having a Godson could be so much fun. Who knew? But wait – it gets better … my friend Kiki named him Spencer Cameron. Spencer Cameron??!! How pretentious is that? Yep … that’s my godson!
He has a few character flaws – which I’m sure he’ll outgrow. For one, he’s always sticky. Seriously. He’s always attached at my hip … and that’s only because I can’t shake him. And when we’re discussing politics – he tends to poo-poo my ideas. No – honest to God – actual poo.
When he turns 18, I’m immediately whisking him off to Tahoe for a hedonistic weekend of drinking and gambling and smoking. It’s only right. Just don’t tell Kiki – I want her to think we’re taking tours of college campuses.