My Daddy "The Fonz"

Chapter 1: Goodbye Delilah

Warning: mentions of smoking and sex.

Fonzie's POV:

So, get this. You're not gonna believe this. H*ll, I don't believe this. I'll tell ya what happened. My favorite chick, Delilah Hess, we were gettin' in the mood–and I'm all smooth like I always am–and we're smoochin' and neckin' and all that jazz (A/N: This show was made in the 1970's, but the setting is in the 1950's. "Necking" in the 50's meant making out.). Well, let's just say the rest is history.

Well, until today.

Today, Delilah comes back into my life, still as pretty as ever, 'cept now she has a child.

MY child. Oops.

I wake up to pounding on my door, and I answer it, ready to let my fist fly. No one wakes up the Fonz while he's napping. No one. Right when I raise my elbow up with my knuckles closed tight, my brain kicks in just in time to find that pretty face framed by a sweeping head of white-blonde hair–back from the underworld to haunt me. "Delilah?" I say, flabbergasted. "What ya doing here? I thought you was off to college to make yourself a decent life."

She looks at me with wide eyes, almost like she was scared of me or somethin'. "No...actually, I've been quite busy lately. Well–here."

I'm not sure what "here" means until she steps aside and this floppy brown head pops into my line of vision. I step back and gasp. "What. Is. That?"

She stays quiet for a while as I stare.

"Hello? Excuse me? Care to explain yourself? Why is a child on my doorstep? I don't do kids."

"Well, you do now," is all she says, then pushes this little boy toward me. He can't be older than eight. We exchange blank glances for a few seconds until he begins to speak. Before he says anything, I cut him off. "No. No. NoNONO. NO WAY JOSE. This kid ain't mine. No how. How even?" I step back, repelled like a cockroach would be to the bottom of someone's shoe. My blood begins to grow hot, and I wonder if I need to start pacing to keep my cool. The Fonz never loses his cool. Not even when he learns he has a kid.

She looks at me, surprised at my reaction. What–did she think I'd welcome this with open arms? She doesn't even know me. I can't even say her name anymore. She's now just "she" to me...That's all. She scoffs then gives me her big, blue-eyed pouty face in hopes I would come around. "Please. You're his father. I need a break to pursue my dreams now. Please, for me, your favorite girl."

It was my turn to scoff. "Favorite is a strong word. We went on three dates. Big whoop. How can three dates produce that? It's impossible. How could he ever be mine? Prove it."

"Fine. I will." She turns to the little boy. "Bobby, please show your Pa that birth certificate I gave you."

The boy lifts this sheet of paper toward me, and I snatch it from his hands, completely put out by this point. My eyes blur out of focus as I try to make sense of the document. A few lines down, my eyes land on the year.

1948.

She and I dated in 1948, and this kid, well, he was born in 1948. Huh. I look directly at the boy. "How old are you, kid?" 

"Seven."

Great. It's now the year 1955. It adds up. I huff out of frustration. "So, even if he's my kid, why would you tell me now, of all times? Why not when he was born?" I don't want to talk to this chick, but I have to get to the bottom of this.

"I figured you would be angry, like you are now, so I tried putting it off as long as I could...but now I need you. He needs you."

I stand straight as an arrow and cross my arms, studying her pathetic expression. "Lemme guess. I'm betting that you are just tired of him. Of all your responsibilities, like how you were when I knew you. You never changed. You just wanna go out and smoke and party. Have yourself a grand old time. And this kid won't let you do that. You want to be free and flirty in your thirties, but the poor kid gets in your way. I get it." I glare at her to see if I can break her defenses. She has to be lying. It only takes a minute before she sighs and gives in.

She stares at me, scoffs again, then twiddles her thumbs. She can't say a thing. Busted. I knew I was right.

I raise my eyebrows at her and lean in. "Bingo. You want me to take the kid because you're selfish and can't grow up. Figures."

She plunges her fake nail into my shoulder, making it smart (A/N: "smart" means hurt in this time frame). "It takes one to know one, Fonz. I think you need to grow up. At least I'm pursuing something worthwhile. You're just here doing the same old stuff. Riding that stupid bike of yours. Collecting girls' numbers. Hiding out from the cops."

I lightly grab her arm and pull her out of ear shot from the boy. If looks could kill, I would've killed her dead in one split second. "For your information, lady, that was years ago. I am fully mature now. I'm a mechanic—and a prime one at that."

"Great. Then you have more than enough money to take care of someone other than just yourself. Let me go." She shakes her arm loose and gives me one last cruel look before splitting. What am I to do? I nearly put my fist into the wall out of pure rage, but then I realize I ain't alone. That poor kid is still in the other room. My poor kid now I guess.

I slowly make my way through the door to my living room from the bathroom me and his mom were fighting in. Then, I decide to just roll with it. Right then and there, I think, "What the h*ll. I've been through worse. I can handle this. The Fonz doesn't back down from a challenge." Yeah, I could talk myself into anything, and it never back fires. That's sarcasm, by the way.

I sit down on my most comfortable couch, as if it wasn't a big deal, and pat the cushions next to me. The kid timidly shuffles toward me, and I wonder if he might suddenly dart away to find his mom. He doesn't. He actually comes to me. Funny. Most kids are scared to even look me in the face, let alone sit next to me. A feat in itself.