In my heart, I’m still a kid.

No, not the fun kind of kid who needs Ritalin slipped into his mashed potatoes just to keep him from stealing the family minivan. Deep down, I’m a 5-year-old space cadet who floats aimlessly through the world unless instructed otherwise by an adult and/or imaginary friend.

How did I get this way, you ask? It’s simple. I was raised by the two sweetest, most caring people to ever walk the face of the earth —my parents, Mommy and Daddy Fersh. They devoted their lives to raising the three children they always dreamed of having. And me, the accident who was the fourth.

Growing up, I never had a care in the world because I was their baby. If one of my brothers picked on me, they were there to stand up for me. If I needed help getting dressed, they were there to unhinge my suspenders from my underwear. If I ever wandered too far, they’d pull extra hard on my leash.

When I came to Syracuse University, I set out to repay them with beautiful prose they could read each week in The Daily Orange. After three years and more than 70 columns, I finally sat down with them during Fall Break and asked what they thought of my work. Here’s what transpired:

Me: I consider my work to be very thought-provoking. What goes through your head when you read my columns?

Dad: We see your photo, and I think, ‘What a handsome kid.’ It demonstrates the power of genetics. Then I usually think, in sequence, ‘I am looking forward to reading this column.’ Then: ‘Did he really just say that?’ ‘Not the bit about wearing a dress again!’ ‘That’s a funny line.’ ‘Oops, might have offended someone there. I hope no one takes this too seriously.’

Mom: The whole time I just think, ‘I can’t wait to share this with my mahjong group!’

Me:I’m glad I can help you score points at the mahjong table, Mom. Does that mean you’ve finally come to appreciate my sophisticated wit?

Mom:You mean fart jokes? I get enough boy humor at the dinner table. I’d love to see you write something else.

Me:Dad, you can see the real value in my work, right?

Dad: Invariably, I rely on your column for a sophisticated analysis of the political and social issues of the day on campus, especially those involving bodily functions.

Me:So you consider me a reliable, truthful source of information? Or do you feel like you need to set the record straight?

Dad:Well, I won my Nobel Prize in 1973, not 1972. I know that’s confused you in the past.

Mom: He never won a Nobel Prize. 

Me: Thanks, Mom. Anything else you want me to know?

Dad:Well, I wanted to say you turned out great considering you were our fourth child in six years, and we had trouble remembering your name.

Me: Thanks, Dad. You’ve been a great influence, both in my life and my writing.

Dad:Honey, I’d hate to think what Danny’s writing would be like if he knew we never read it.

Danny Fersh is a senior broadcast journalism major and his column appears every Wednesday. He would like to give a shout-out to Uncle Jack and the best f***ing BDJ 465 news team ever. He also thanks his mom and dad for making him better looking than all his siblings. Email dafersh@syr.edu  and follow him on Twitter via @fershprince.