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By Steve Eskew

Albeit once upon a time he could barely stand the sight of me, my ex-father-in-law materialized into one of my all-time best buds. I’ve always called him Big Bruno; his nickname for me has always been “Funny Bones.”

Our unlikely bonding resulted from the sudden abject poverty that befell us both when we became divorcees within three days of each other. (I’ll save the slapsticky details for subsequent columns.)

Following Bruno’s divorce from my ex-wife’s syrupy sweet mother, plus my own divorce from Bruno’s enchantingly delightful daughter, the two of us found ourselves deliriously downsizing in the same noxious neighborhood.  

Fate had flopped us into this, this twilight zone of an environment by the same person — this, this malicious, man-eating female judge. Obviously, a bonafide misandrist, she reigned as infamous for shouting a pathetic parting shot to all her male victims — “Get out of my courtroom, you — you phony!” 

That prompted Bruno and me to often discuss the subject of phoniness at length. I submitted that every man, woman and child’s exterior camouflages certain phony traits. Nobody reveals their entire true self — certainly not initially. They peel off the real deal of themselves, piece by piece by phony piece. 

Then one day you realize that you’ve befriended an authentic pseudo-intellectual. The horror! Oh, well, better that than discovering your new bff is an ax murderer. Especially if they’re a phony ax murderer.

How about the phony swine who dare to fudge on their resumes and their class reunion bios? Off with their heads! And don’t let me commence on phony politicians. So dang many slithering through congressional circles. Tut-tut.

Phony-baloneys, plastic-fantastic — shame on these shams. I tell ya the stories I hear at Hypocritical Hypocrites Anonymous meetings alone would curdle your blood.

But what really grieves me is my own sin of secretly agreeing in part with that wicked divorce judge. So sorry, but she was sadly correct to label Bruno as phony. However, bless his ignorant heart, he’s innocently phony.

Yup, a sometimes sweet but exceedingly self-deceived guy, Bruno doesn’t realize his own phoniness. Standing six feet, seven inches tall, Bruno comes across as a super macho man on the exterior. For example, during events in which most everyone else becomes emotionally overwrought, Bruno remains in complete control — especially during tornados, funerals, sitcoms and soap operas.

Ah, but Bruno’s living proof that certain events provoke real men to emotionally collapse and even cry their eyes out. Bruno’s image to the world is one of being a sports’ fan devil. 

Thank God most everyone becomes too excited themselves by the players’ triumphs to notice Bruno’s bizarre reactions. During special moments, he madly flies out of control and sobs — yes, sobs hysterically every time one of his favorite athletes performs a brilliant play. 

Even funnier is when he tries to describe a dazzling stratagem. He gets all choked up, emits big boo-hoo tears and practically foams at the mouth: “. . . and, and, and then Brady threw the ball and, and . . .” 

Suddenly, Bruno becomes too verklempt to speak. It’s both hilarious and precious all at once. And nobody’s brave enough to mock the macho giant.

It’s quite a sight to see the epitome of masculinity unwittingly melt down like a broken-hearted bride who’s been abandoned at the alter.

However, Bruno never fails to note other people’s phoninesses. Recently out of nowhere, he blurted out: “I gotta say it, Funny Bones. I think that weird divorce judge years ago was right for once. You really are phony.”

“Bruno, that jab hurts like a hangover,” I said. “I’m no fraud. I’m the Real McCoy. I’m utterly lousy with authenticity.”

“Ha! You dye your beard, Funny Bones. And those teeth are capped. Your new nickname is Phony Bones.”

Huh? It took him 40 years to notice my phoniness? Shattered, I immediately shaved off my beard. But my caps stay. 

Bruno’s reaction? “Good God, you shaved off your beard, Phony Bones. You look retarded. Grow it back and leave it gray.” 

Then he laughed heartily. 

He thinks he’s funny. I think he’s a lot funnier when he bawls like a baby.

Update: Bruno’s 93 now, and he’s reignited the flame between him and my ex-mother-in law. As fate would have it, their daughter and I have decided to reunite as well.

So, what better place than here to make the happy announcement — we’re having a genuine double wedding!! Ah, I’ll finally be genuine — a genuine bigamist.

April Fool!    

— Steve Eskew

Thank God liberal arts courses are so easy. Even retired businessman Steve Eskew received a pair of master’s degrees in both dramatic arts and communication studies from the University of Nebraska at Omaha after he turned 50. When asked to take over a professor’s theater column at The Daily Nonpareil in Council Bluffs, Iowa, Steve began a career as a quasi-journalist. Narrowly by the luck of the Irish, this led to numerous publications including theater and book reviews, profiles and Steve’s favorite genre, humor writing. Check out his blog, ESKEWPADES and his other contributions to Erma Bombeck Workshop.