A Touching Father’s Day Story: Will the real baby daddy please stand up?
Here in fictional Swampton County, S.C., where every man yearns to be a father, we have a unique and exciting way to settle matters of paternity. May the best father-candidate win.
Welcome to Swampton County, S.C., where the sign outside the Cattywampus Church of Christ reads, “This Father’s Day, give the gift of your soul to the One True Dad!”
It’s Father’s Day Sunday, and a satellite-topped TV news van parks outside the Swampton Medical University Urgent Care Center. Nearby, there is a raucously loud commotion. A crowd of men mills about, angry voices carrying threats and curses across the early morning air, police sirens flashing radiating blue waves of light that reflect on the hospital windows. Strangely, occasional cheers erupt from the growing mob, then more shouting.
The curious local news reporter, mic in hand, stops a weary night shift nurse who was getting off duty and heading to her car. Flash bulbs light her red, tired eyes, as video cameras and microphones are thrust in her face by the news crew.
“Ma’am, can you tell us what is going on here? What are all these men angry about, and what ignited this scene?”
“You know Tamarine Cook?” the nurse sighed. “She just gave birth to another baby girl with her fifth husband, Bo Diddley Shakes.”
“Tamarine Cook? Isn’t that the lady who is already blessed with six children by seven different me… I mean, I think we did a nice profile interview with her on Mother’s Day.”
“That’s the one. She’s quite the ‘go-getter.’ Bless her heart.”
“So, what’s all this commotion?” the reporter pressed. “Why the angry mob?”
“Well, I got to hand it to him. Bo Diddley stuck by her side through the whole labor and delivery like a real trooper, holding her hand and feeding her ice chips like a good husband should, until the very end. But after, while he was looking in his wallet for his Medicaid card and getting ready to sign his name to the birth certificate, two other possible father-candidates, Jimmy Shakes and John Ray Henry, barged in and stopped him, and they all got to tussling and fighting over whose signature was going on that birth certificate. It took two candy stripers, an OBGYN, and a proctologist to break up the fight.”
“Wow, that’s sounds like quite an intense scene!” Turning to the camera, “Are you getting all this?”
“And apparently there were a couple of other potential fathers who were waiting to fight Bo outside to claim their right to paternity,” the nurse continued. “My guess is they didn’t want to come inside because the hospital is a chewing-tobacco-free campus, and they don’t allow Bud Light, either. Luckily, the Swampton Sheriff’s Office responded and prevented this thing from really turning into a mass casualty event.”
Nearby, more cheers and angry cries from the milling mob.
“Thank goodness for local law enforcement! So, what’s happening now? Those men appear to be playing some type of game. Is that a guy in a referee uniform with a whistle? Are they posting scores on the hospital’s road sign?”
“Yeah, the Sheriff had the foresight to call in a crisis prevention expert – kind of like a hostage negotiator, you know – and the crisis expert suggested they settle the matter of ‘who the baby belongs to’ with a peaceful game of cornhole, and so a tournament broke out.”
“That was a great idea!” said the reporter. “No one in Swampton, or any small town, really, can resist a rousing game of cornhole.”
Now, the sounds of the cornhole bags slapping the tables could be distinguished from the cheers, angry jeers and smack talk of the competition. A middle-aged man with a loud voice climbed into the bed of a Ford pickup and began calling the play-by-play in a loud, theatrical voice.
“Yeah, it was either that, a church softball game, or a tractor pull. And since it’s not softball season, and with the price of diesel fuel these days…”
“So, who’s winning? Do you think it’s safe to get a closer peek at the action?”
The night nurse shifted her tired feet and watched as the local radio station announcers arrived and began setting up a live remote under a funeral home tent. Motorists were pulling off of Route 68 and the Interstate, and the parking lot was filling up with additional spectators. Bookies began taking bets, people were calling their families and spreading the word, a blue grass/country band began playing off to the side under the shade trees, and a couple of food trucks pulled up. Soon, the aromas of corn dogs, fries and chicken nuggets began wafting through the now-festive atmosphere of the urgent care campus.
“From the looks of it, Bo Diddley got off to a slow start behind Jimmy and Johnny Ray. Maybe because he was exhausted from being up all night in the maternity ward. But he went out to his truck, popped a Monster energy drink and a fresh dip of wintergreen Skoal, put on his official cornhole shirt and lucky cornhole gloves, and now he’s fighting for the lead. It looks like the match is going into overtime!”
“Well,” the TV reporter turned to the audience, “As we wait for our sports crew to arrive to live broadcast the exciting conclusion to this Father’s Day Cornhole Competition, let’s go inside and speak to the proud mother, Mrs. Tamarine herself!”
“Oh, it’s too late, you done missed her,” the nurse interrupted. “I think she got disgusted with these men and all their macho nonsense, so Tamarine and the baby slipped out the back door of the hospital with another, as-yet-unidentified father-candidate, and they took the birth certificate with them.”
“Well, it looks like that wraps up our morning show with a shocking twist,” concluded the obviously disappointed reporter. “Congratulations to the Cook family on their beautiful, bouncing baby girl, along with anyone and everyone else possibly and allegedly involved.
“Happy Father’s Day to everyone from Swampton County, and we’ll see you next week!”