Child number 2 is a 17-year old boy whose mom I impregnated while studying abroad (quite literally, I guess) for a year at Florida University. I didn't know I was his dad until I received a court order for a paternity test a year later in Oslo. He and his mother have been getting his cut from my vast estate ever since.
I guess the money wasn't enough, because the little bastard called Dr. Phil in an attempt to reach out to me. I figured what the hell, a free trip to LA.
I sat back stage in the green room while the kid told his sob story. I wanted to throw up. Finally they brought me on.
"You've been watching back stage. What do you want to say?"
"Um... hmm... you don't look familiar... I have to assume you didn't make the Christmas party... right?"
There was an audible gasp. Dr. Phil knew about the Christmas party from my pre-interview with his producers, and he was excited I brought it up. When I explained what it was: a way for all of my six kids and seven baby-moms to get together, there was a bigger gasp and scattered boos.
"How many of your kids do you have contact with, Mads?" Dr. Phil seemed very stoic, and it was freakin' me out. I wanted the no-nonsense, crazy-sayings, Texas justice, cut-through-the-bullshit Dr. Phil; not this one.
"I see whoever comes to the Christmas party once a year."
More gasps and head shaking.
"Tristan, is there something you'd like to say to your dad?"
"Tristan? Your mom named you Tristan?"
"You didn't know my name? I'm your son and you didn't know my name?"
"That's not important. No one should be named Tristan. With all the money I send your mother, she should have the good sense to buy a baby naming book and rename you."
"I happen to like my name--"
I stood up and unpinned my microphone.
"Listen, even though your 18th birthday is coming, you will still continue to receive money from the estate. A relationship on a personal level is out of the question until you change your name. I'm sorry."
And I walked off stage.
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