The Coolest Dad in the World - by Philip

My older daughter has a bunch of her friends over right now, so my house is teeming with rowdy teenagers. While this might prove to be an annoyance for some parents, I couldn’t be more excited – this is the perfect opportunity to show all of them how cool I am! I mean how tight I am. I mean how dope I am? Anyway, my efforts sounded much better in person than this post does so far, on the real. If all of my daughter’s homies didn’t think I was incredibly cool, why else would they keep stifling their laughter like that? They just can’t contain their happiness that someone my age would still be hip to all of the happenin’ new lingo.

When my daughter rolls her eyes and begs me to stop embarrassing her in front of her friends, I know it’s just false modesty. Poor kid probably feels bad for all of her friends whose parents are totally square and wouldn’t know the Fat Boys from Em and Em. So I play along with her as she pretends to be mortified: “Girl,” I say, “why you gotta front? Don’t be steppin’ to me like that,” I continue, “You get up in my grill and I’m gonna bust a cap in your behind.” Tight as I may be, I still don’t like swearing in front of the youngsters. I have to say, my daughter is really good at playing along since she somehow made herself burst into tears and then ran up to her room.

But I don’t just share my coolness with family members. Yesterday, I was chilling with my black friend and that was a great chance for me to see just how good my chops really are. It was nice of him to pretend to look confused as I walked up to him and performed the requisite handshake/fist bump combo ending with two snaps up. He even looked around to make sure that everyone was watching. He asked how things have been going and was delighted to hear that not only have I been chillin’ like a villain, but that I also know how to handle my scandal, nahmsayin’? Clearly, my frequent viewing of TRL had stood me in good stead because my friend stared at me like he was looking at Biggie hisself. It’s a shame he had to leave early because I was going to tell him how much I appreciate the lyrical progression from the Sugarhill Gang to Puff Daddy, whom I’ve totally heard of. Next time.

On my way back home, I ran into a bunch of young fellas straight kickin’ it in the ‘hood, and noticed that one of them was smoking a very unusual cigarette. Not wanting to miss out on any hot new trends, I approached the whippersnapper and asked him about the strange-smelling tobacco in which he was partaking. “'Sup, home slice,” I said, noting his look of incredulity that someone of my advancing years would be down with such slammin’ verbiage, “where did you get that bitchin’ fattie?” “Keep moving, narc,” he replied, and who can blame him? If I were the first kid on my block to participate in such a scintillating new fad, I would also be reticent to reveal my connection. “Ahhaight then. I gots to head back to the crib and get my Brit Hume on, for rizzle. Catch y’all n-words on the flip side,” I reply while beating a hasty retreat.




I arrived at home to find my daughter sulking in her room. It seemed that my previous demonstration of awesomeness had somewhat of an adverse effect on her friends. They apparently felt so threatened by my hipness that they all decided to remove my daughter from their MyFace Top 8 lists. I hate it when the youth these days misuse their interweb privileges and engage in the cypher-bullying, so I promise my daughter that I’ll try to check myself before I wreck myself, though I know it’s really her friends who are wrecking themselves. Poor kids probably wish their parents were as cool as I. Not everyone can be so lucky.

Digg this • Facebook • Delicious • Subscribe