Oh, Brandon, don’t be silly. I don’t love Robokid more than you. Even if he can shoot foam discs out of his mouth.

Believe me, son, nobody could ever, EVER take your place. Not even someone who will dance and fight on command to amuse me. Do you think maybe you could- no, no, never mind. I won’t even ask. You’re my little guy! My little buddy! I’ll never forget the day you were born – it was one of the two greatest days of my life!

The other one? That’s, uh, not important.

The point is, no programmable remote-control robot, no matter how fun or cool or really just seriously incredibly fun and cool, could ever be the same as my real son. Robokid will never come running to show me the cool bug he found outside, or fall asleep in my lap, or make me a card for Father’s Day. Robokid will never ask me questions while I’m trying to watch the football game, or spill paint all over the basement floor, or eat the last of the barbecue that I was really counting on to take to work for lunch, or-

Hey, let’s not worry about what Robokid can or can’t do. I just want you to know: you’re my A-number-one special dude, my best pal in the universe, my awesome kid. OK, Brandon? Now, I think I hear your school bus outside. Better get going. Robokid and I will just be here waiting for you to get home. Go on. Go! Bye!

Back to top