My name is Wallace Bud Smelly and I was born in Whistler's Junction, Virginia. I'm not sure that my life is all that noteworthy, but I promise to tell the story well, and that the twenty minutes it will take you to read it will be worth your precious leisure time. I might as well get the subject of my name out of the way. Wallace Bud. My father loved the fights, and he named his sons after pugilists. Wallace "Bud" Smith was a lightweight champion of brief standing in 1955. He fought a real war with the titleholder, and made quite an impression on my dad.

And while that's all true - I'm joking with you. I know it's Smelly you're wondering about. Even snickering, I'll bet. You might assume I took plenty of ribbing growing up. You'd be wrong. I was a pretty tough kid, and if anyone said anything about my name, I let them have it. I had two older brothers and they were tough, too. Nobody messed with a Smelly. Nonetheless, my wife Betty insisted we use her last name for our children, so that's what we did. All our children are Sterlings on their birth certificates. It really hurt me to not have my children bear my name. But Betty insisted. I suppose I'm lucky she married me. But let's back up and get a bit more chronological.

I'm often told that 1955 was a wonderful year to be born. There was nothing quite like the fifties. If a man could hold down a full-time job in those days - almost any full-time job - the odds were good he could buy a home and raise a family. And so my father did. He moved from the mountains to the city and became a house painter. They say that men only chose painting as a career so they could drink during the day. Based on my dad, I would have to say there's some truth to that. But he mostly drank beer. I didn't like him drinking whiskey. He slurred his words with it. I'd say a little prayer each night that Dad would keep away from whiskey, and mostly he did.

Some might say that we were a little on the poor side, but we had a good meal every night, and we always had a good Christmas. Baseball gloves, punching bags, sleds. We were physical kids and loved to wrestle and climb trees.

Clothes and pocket money started to be a big deal. When I turned twelve, I couldn't wait to get a newspaper route. I think it totally screwed up my schoolwork, waking up at four in the morning, but boy, was I happy to earn some dough. My parents never paid a lot of attention to my grades. As long as I didn't make a D or an F, everything was fine.

Pretty soon, my mind was totally on girls. How does that change happen? It sneaks up on a kid. Comes on like a second hunger. My brothers were pretty good at football, and I noticed that girls liked that. I turned out to be pretty good at it, too. Smelly boys had a reputation as hard hitters. In ninth grade, I played linebacker on the junior varsity. Girls were all over me. I'm damned lucky I never got any of them pregnant. Damned lucky. Some friends of mine weren't as fortunate. I think hormones should kick in a little later than they do, give kids a chance to grow up and use their brains. If I were God, that's how I would have done it. I feel like He messed up a little there.

I saved up my money and bought a motorcycle: a Triumph 650. I made sure it had saddlebags, because I was going to put it to work. In my senior year, I got a part-time job as a courier for a television news company. I delivered newsreels around the DC area. I was reliable and my bosses liked me. When I graduated, they brought me in full-time and taught me something about the business. I learned about mounting lenses and operating cameras, and how to frame a good interview. I wasn't a college boy, obviously, but they taught me a lot about video production.

Of course, around this time, the world was changing. There was that whole psychedelic thing. Protests. Womens' Lib. None of that had any effect on my life. I lived the way my parents lived, no different. I was lucky enough to have found a good job, I figured the next step was to find a good woman. Betty Sterling was a receptionist at one of our affiliates. Okay, her being so gosh darn pretty was what I first noticed. But she was efficient and good with details, too. I'm sure I acted like a bumpkin around her whenever I had something to pick up from her office.

"Are you a Betty Sue or a Betty Lou? I'll bet you're one or the other."

"You'll laugh if I tell you."

"No, I won't. Promise."

"I'm Elizabeth Taylor Sterling. My parents were such fools."

"That's different, I'll grant you."

"They were going to call me Taylor, but it never stuck. So now I'm just one more Betty in the world."

"And I'm just one more Bud."

"I feel like those are old names, names from the fifties. Makes me feel a little old."

"What? You couldn't be twenty-two."

"Well, I'm twenty-three, thank you very much."

"Ya got me by a year. Ever been to The Merry-Go-Round?"

"That place with the mirrored dance floor? Nope. A girl's got to be an idiot to wear a mini-skirt there."

"They've also got swings at the bar hung by velvet ropes. They're kind of fun. Unless you get too drunk and can't keep your balance."

"I do like to dance."

"All women like to dance, from what I've seen. It's the men who aren't keen about it. Or at least very good at it. Have you ever noticed, how foolish most men look dancing?"

"My boyfriend in high school was a great dancer."

"He's a rare one, then."

"Have no idea what he's up to now. He's long out of my life."

"I'm not a great dancer, but I wouldn't embarrass you, if you'd care to try me."

"So you're asking me out?

"Could be fun."

"Hmmm...as long as it doesn't affect us professionally, I guess I'll say yes."

I was really surprised that Betty wore a relatively short skirt when I took her to The Merry-Go-Round. I was a gentleman and averted my eyes from the mirrored floor. She showed me a new dance called The Bump. New to me, anyway. We retired to the bar and sipped Tequila Sunrises in the velvet swings. Later, driving home in my car, I thought conversation was going well when it took a bad turn.

"I don't drink very much, with good reason," said Betty. "I get too frank. What I'm about to say fits into that category. My parents would prefer that I only date college graduates. I'm not a college graduate myself, so I don't know why they put that on me, but there it is."

"Well, it's just one date. You can pretend it didn't happen."

"Oh, no, I had a marvelous time. You really are a good dancer. And conversationalist. And everyone at the office speaks well of your work. But there's your unfortunate last name. See - I get too frank."

"Well, now I am offended." I tried to say this in jest, but it actually bothered me.

"Can't you do anything about it? Get it changed?"

"I've never looked into changing it. It's my name. I'm a Smelly, and I'm going to stay a Smelly."

"Oh, I've made you feel small - I apologize. But let me go further by saying that except for the lack of a sheepskin and the burden of your surname, I think you're absolutely divine."

"So.....?"

"So, feel free to ravish me at any point." I pulled over and we made it, as my generation likes to say, right there in the car. I didn't ask about precaution. It was assumed in those days that most single young women were on the pill. After a few dates with Elizabeth Taylor Sterling, though, I learned this wasn't the case.

"The pill made me depressed. Not just down in the dumps. Medically depressed. Then I tried the loop and I bled too much. So now I just count the days."

"How are you about children? I mean, if you got pregnant..."

"The truth is, I would love to have a family. I've always wanted one. I'm great with a sewing machine, I could make all my family's clothes and save a lot of money."

"Betty, I'm not the college grad your folks are hoping for. And I'm sure you're not interested in changing your name to Smelly. But I'm ready to start a family. If things go well with us, I'd like to see that happen."

"We've only dated a few times, but I feel like I've known you forever. I think we're two people who aren't of this generation, two people who want to live life the way their parents did.

"Yes! Exactly! My old man isn't perfect, he drinks more than I wish he did. But he's been a good father. I just want to be the same kind of man he is. Maybe a little better." We got to talking in our lofty way for hours. Over a few weeks, we fell in love. After a few months, we set a date. It didn't feel rushed to us, though I'm sure many thought we were being impetuous.

I thought things were moving along just fine, when Betty said we had to have a talk. It turned out to be about my name.

"I thought we were over this, Betty. My name is my name, nothing's going to change that."

"The problem is all those invitations and newspaper announcements, Bud. My parents are paying for everything and they're just not crazy about reading Smelly all over everything."

"What do they expect me to do? Change the name my father passed down to me?"

"Well...yes. You could go to court and get it changed. To whatever you want. We consulted an attorney and he said it would be easy. You could pick any nice name you like. It's up to you."

"Betty, I've never admitted this to anyone, but being a Smelly hasn't been easy. I got teased at first. But when other guys saw what a good fighter I was, they kept their traps shut. So I made it through school with a minimum of grief. When I graduated, I thought I wouldn't have to worry about it anymore. Grown adults wouldn't give me a hard time. I was home free. I thought that - until just now."

"I'm so sorry, Bud. I'm going to marry you, either way. But my parents are putting their foot down. They're not going to pay for a wedding unless you change your name."

"Well, we'll just have to be married at a Justice of the Peace, then."

"Okay, honey. But our children. Please, they must be Sterlings. For their sakes, please."

"Is that allowed?"

"Supposedly they will write anything on the birth certificate that we tell them to."

"My son won't have my name. That really bothers me."

"Bud, what if he turns out small, like me, and can't defend himself the way you did? Would you want that for your son, endless bullying?"

"I guess not."

"Good. So if you will allow our children to be Sterlings, I will go to the County Courthouse with you this weekend and we can get married by the Justice of the Peace there."

"This weekend?"

"Yes."

"Deal!" I was so happy to just get married and get all that other crappa-dappa-doo out of the way, I gave in. I was shocked that Betty was willing to forego the ceremony, the gown, the reception, the honeymoon. The flowers, the gifts. The invitations. Oh, those invitations, the cause of it all! What were things going to be like between me and her parents? I hadn't really thought it all out. Was I asking too much of Betty, would there be an unfixable rift? I wasn't sure.

The Justice of the Peace was a pleasant guy and his sons, it turned out, had played football at my old school. I wanted Betty to have some kind of consolation prize for her lousy nuptials, so I sprung for a penthouse suite overlooking the city. And I made sure she had some nice flowers. She was sure giving up a lot just to be married to big dumb oaf me. I was proud of my work, but I knew I'd always have the stigma of not being a college boy. I was hoping that wouldn't bite me in the ass one day.

We moved into an apartment that had a nice pool and a tennis court. Betty got pregnant in no time. We couldn't be sure, but it was entirely possible that it happened on our wedding night. We took that as a good sign. Betty's parents came by for dinner several times and acted like nothing had happened. They were just thrilled that little Sterlings would be crawling around the place soon. Hopefully, they could see I was a good guy. I felt like I had dodged a bullet there.

I had a lot to learn, and right away I learned morning sickness could be pretty severe. Oh, did Betty suffer. Through most of her pregnancy. I ached for her. I kept bringing her favorite foods to her, to keep her weight up. She loved napoleons and chocolate eclairs. I wasn't having any luck with regular food, I had to tempt her with something. It wasn't the healthiest stuff in the world, but she kept her weight up on desserts. The smell of meat would make her hurl, we had to keep it out of the apartment. I missed my meat. When little Charles Edward Sterling was born healthy, I didn't know what made me the most happy. That I had a fine son, that my wife, hopefully, didn't have to suffer anymore, or that I could go back to having meat for dinner. We planned to take a good long break before getting pregnant again.

I know I ragged on God earlier, and I'm going to do it again. Women have to go through too much, just to have babies. I think He could've made the process a lot easier on them. I hope I'm not headed to Hell for saying so, but I think it's the truth. If a dumbass like me can see that, why didn't He?

You can plan and plan and plan, but that doesn't mean any of it's going to turn out. Eight months after Ched was born, Betty got pregnant again. She claimed she was happy, but I knew she was dreading it. It was a replay of the first time. Nausea, the battle to keep her weight up, no meat in the apartment. Betty's mom helped out a lot. And Henry James Sterling was born.

I realized we had to get serious about contraception. Betty's mom said not to worry - the children would be like birth control. She and I had become famous friends, taking care of Ched and Betty. I hoped she was right, but I wanted to be a little more assertive than that. My wife needed an extended break.

I thought we might try oral sex exclusively for a while. Actually, I was fine with it. It's Betty I would have to sell on the idea. She was never crazy about oral sex. But as things turned out, her mom was right. We were often too tired from the children to think about sex. It happens to the best of parents.

The boys were a blast. I couldn't wait until they were old enough to tussle with their old man. Work was going well. A few college guys passed me up for advancement, but I was always treated fairly. I got some small promotions. I wanted a house, but my salary just wasn't enough. The economy had changed for the worse - it wasn't the fifties anymore. Both our families wanted to help, but I didn't want that. I know I'm a stubborn thing. Nobody helped my old man. Finally I caved, and took the help. For the kids' sake, we all said.

I didn't like how I felt about the gratis money. And I was starting to regret my agreement about the kids' last name. I wanted at least one Smelly to follow in my footsteps. At ages two and three, the Smelly brothers (as I thought of them) seemed to be a somewhat delicate twosome. They didn't fight and wrestle the way I did with my brothers. But I figured they'd toughen up as they got older. It was important for me to believe that.

Betty was making some extra money with her sewing machine. She used it to pay for karate lessons. Not for the kids - for her! I couldn't say anything, it was her money. And she stayed with it. By the time our youngest was five, she had a brown belt. And was very proud of it.

"Bud, I think taking karate is one of the best things a person can do. I would love for the kids to take it when they get a little older."

"I was hoping for PeeWee football, but hey, if they like karate, that's fine with me. I'm not sure where the money will come from, that's the only problem."

"My folks will handle it, if your pride can swallow it."

"Oh, no. Since you bring up the subject of pride, I have something I want to broach..." And then I caught myself. I was going to mention that I wanted to have the boys' last name changed legally to Smelly. I had been thinking about it for a while. The ridiculousness of the notion hit me as I said it, and I backed down.

"Well, c'mon, what is it you want to broach?"

"Uh....to take karate myself!" I had never once thought about it.

"I think that's great, Bud! I think that would be wonderful for our family." In short time, Betty had worked out a deal with her senseis. She would teach their white belt classes in exchange for my lessons. What had I done? I didn't want to take karate. But I made the best of it. It was a sport, I loved sports. And I was good at it. I had a little trouble remembering all the forms, the kata - but I was really good at fighting, the kumite. I was a terror. I started to see what Betty saw in it.

A couple years passed and, as promised, Betty's parents started paying for the kids to take lessons. We were a karate family. I got to where I could break ten inches of cinder block with one punch. The largest knuckle on my right hand had grown huge from the special training it took to break cinder. It took another two years more for me to get a black belt. Betty was stuck at brown. She just wasn't strong enough to do the breaks that black required.

My job was going okay, but the world was changing. Networks were starting to buy their own cameras and do their own videotaping. It was obvious that at some point, my company's services would no longer be needed in the world. Betty and I thought about opening our own karate school. There weren't many schools around then, it seemed a perfect opportunity. I left my job and started working on our studio. Everything was falling into place, except the name. I was an idiot: I wanted to call it Smelly Academy. My own sons laughed at me. Sterling Academy was the perfect name. I sulked about it but realized they were right. I didn't want my name buried in history. Occasionally Betty hinted that I should change my name to Sterling, but I wouldn't hear of it. I was a stubborn thing.

Our karate school did okay, but it really wasn't bringing in enough money for a family of four. So I started selling equipment to earn a little extra cash. I took out an advertisement in each of the popular karate magazines and boy, did we get results! The mark-up on karate gear was obscene. Equipment sales soon became a bigger moneymaker than the academy. In three years we had moved into a bigger house and both our sons were attending a private school.

The boys were turning out to be fine lads. They weren't as strong and tough as their old man – in fact, they were both pretty scrawny. That was probably from Betty being such a wispy thing. But they were plenty smart. I was able to put Ched in charge of filling equipment orders. He was actually better at it than I was. One day he came to me and wanted to talk about the business.

"Dad, do you know how much we sell a mouth protector for?"

"Yeah, $4.95."

"And do you know what our cost is?"

"Uh, I don't remember."

"A quarter."

"A quarter?"

"Twenty-five cents. And there's a lot more items we sell like that, at a huge markup."

"So, what's your question?"

"Doesn't that seem unfair?"

"Well, it balances out with other things. Like when that order to Duluth got lost."

"Insurance covered that."

"Ched, I don't know what to tell you. That's capitalism, my friend."

"Well, I don't feel very good about cheating people so that we can have a nice life."

"Is this what they're teaching you at school? I spend a lot of money at that rich kid's paradise and they turn you into a commie?"

"I just don't want my family to exploit anyone."

"Exploit! Exploit! They are teaching you to be a pinko! Let me tell you, I learned a lot about Red China and the Russkies when I was in telenews. Both of those countries have killed millions and millions of their own people, all because of communism. It's evil, Ched. Nothing but evil."

"Okay, fine. But that still doesn't make what we're doing right."

"Look, if someday there are protests in front of the academy with signs saying our prices are too high, I'll lower them. Until that happens, a mouth protector costs five bucks. If I die from a heart attack and you take over the family business, you can set the prices however you see fit. Until then, things stay as they are. Got me?"

"Yes, sir." I had never had a conversation like that with one of my boys. It was unsettling. But I wasn't bothered by being a capitalist pig. I was sure that in my lifetime I had bought plenty of things that carried a ridiculous markup. That was America, pure and simple. To make my point, I raised the lesson rates at the academy. Just because I could. I was sure Ched got the message.

I had been a judge for quite a few amateur karate events in the area, but professional karate started to evolve nationally. I was asked to judge fights that were covered on NBC Sportsworld and a new, sports-only cable network called espn. We had a hometown boy who worked his way up the pro ranks, he was a welterweight by the name of Jerry Cusumano. I knew him well. He went to Montreal and took the world championship away from a French fighter. This stuff was all so new, and a lot of the rankings were pretty flaky. People were claiming to be champions right and left, and the magazines tried to make sense of things with mixed results.

There was a welterweight in Providence, Vinnie Macovicci, who claimed to be the number one challenger. He demanded Jerry come there and fight him, with the title on the line. The match was made, and surprisingly, I was accepted as one of the judges. That's how flaky things were in those days. But I was determined to be fair about it. I had a reputation to uphold.

Then I started hearing stories that Macovicci had connections with the Mafia. Apparently, Providence was a big Mafia town. How was I to know? I figured, hey, the smallest state on the map, it's just sitting up there, quietly minding its own business. I flew up to Rhode Island the day before the fight. I'm in my hotel room and I get a call from Betty.

"Bud?"

"What's wrong?"

"I, I think I just got my life threatened on the phone."

"What did they say?"

"They just said 'Make sure Vinnie wins tomorrow night.' Then they hung up."

"Oh my God, Betty. I'm so sorry, honey. This will be the last time I judge an event. I promise."

"I'm so scared."

"That's just what they're trying to do - scare us. The fact is, neither of these guys have knockout power, so there's a good chance the fight will go the distance. They're trying to affect the decision."

"Can't you just come home and forget about it?"

"I can't back out. But as soon as I sign my judge's card, I'll head home. Kids are fine?"

"Yes, of course, I would've told you if not."

"Okay, call me if things change. I'll see you as soon as possible."

The next night at ringside, I saw guys in overcoats, Vinnie's entourage, who would lean forward in their seat and flash a piece they kept in a shoulder holster. I wasn't worried about myself, I was worried about Betty and the kids. This would be the last time. The fight transpired like I thought it would, a close affair that went the distance. I ended up giving it to Jerry by a point. The other two judges gave it to Macovicci by a point. Boy, was I relieved. It was extremely close, it could've gone either way. I tore up my train ticket and paid for a nonstop flight. When I got home, Betty was mad.

"You should've quit on the spot."

"That would've been worse. If the fight had gotten canceled, they'd have blamed me. It turned out okay. Their boy won, they're happy, and I'm through with pro fighting."

"I don't follow what you're saying, but I trust your judgment. I don't know if I'll ever get over this."

"We got into Taekwondo to learn respect and discipline, not this crap. I hope this pro karate doesn’t catch on. Our students are into it. They were excited when they heard I was going to be a judge in Providence. The fight was shown on espn. It was a big deal."

"That's all the students have been talking about."

"It's not just karate. I feel like the country is headed in a bad direction. Heroin, murder, it's all getting out of hand. Kids don't respect their elders anymore. My own kid gives me grief."

"Yes, I need to have a talk with Ched. I don't like the way he speaks to you sometimes."

My fears about professional karate were unfounded. It never really caught on. NBC Sportsworld stopped airing fights, and the various governing bodies argued with each other constantly, spelling its doom.

The boys were growing up, but they continued to be skinny. They just didn’t look like they had inherited any Smelly genes. But they got good grades and they continued with their karate. They were never going to be like their old man, I could see that. When I started high school, I felt like I could knock a brick wall down. There wasn't going to be any football glory for my boys, that seemed for sure. Neither of them could break more than a couple boards in karate, and I wouldn't have dreamed of them trying their hand at cinder. They were going to be stuck at brown belts, like their mom.

Then Ched started getting tattoos. By the time he was sixteen, his arms were covered with them. His brother followed suit. They both got uncommunicative. Christmas was miserable. Betty tried so hard to keep up the joy of the holidays but the boys were not into it. We worried about drugs, but they insisted they weren't doing any. We believed them. Betty and I wanted to do family therapy, but the boys resisted. Finally we told them they either joined us in counseling or they would have to leave the house. We were afraid of their answer. If they called our bluff, we didnt have the heart to kick them out.

Fortunately we all got into therapy. Hank didn't say much - he never was much of a talker - but Ched provided some insight into things.

"Dad, this is how it is. You've always been a good dad. But we just feel like we can never be who you want us to be. You're a big, strong guy. You carry yourself that way. It's apparently worked for you, and a lot of people - some people - respect you for it. One thing I'll give you and Mom credit for is getting us involved in karate. We would've gotten the crap beaten out of us otherwise."

"At school?"

"You'd be surprised what goes on there. It's not like a public school, those places are hell pits. But there's still plenty to contend with."

"Well, you can switch schools," said Betty.

"School is not the problem," said Hank. "Don't get off the subject, Ched."

"No, school is fine. We both want to graduate and then go to college. That's not the problem. The problem is we both feel as if we are disappointments to Dad. We're not what he bargained for. Grandpa's a tough man, all our Uncles are tough guys, our Dad is tough - we're wusses. Believe me, every kid at school thinks that. Girls think that. Even knowing karate, we just don't rate."

"I can't believe my two children think that of themselves," said Betty. "You both make good grades, you're definitely college material, you're both brown belts.

"Dad, Mom," said Hank. "We're just not cool. We're skinny losers. That pretty much sums us up."

"But you have friends," I said.

"Loser friends," said Ched. And it was true that I always thought that Ched and Hank's friends were kind of lame. All through their lives, their friends always came up short in my eye. I thought my sons could do better. I was a popular kid growing up. About as popular as a kid could get. And yes, I wanted the same for my own boys.

The therapist was very optimistic about our family's outcome. She said we had attained a level of communication that many families struggle to reach. She was confident we could fix things. Poor Betty cried and cried. I was the bad guy. I accepted the blame. I wasn't sure how we would fix things, but I hoped to learn how. For the moment, all I could do was promise the boys to be a different Dad. No more Macho Man. I was sure I could do this. I had to.

It didn't happen overnight. There were moments where I thought they should just tough it out, which is what my old man would've told me. But that was just the kind of thinking that had created our problem in the first place. I needed to become a sensitive guy. Betty was quick to point out whenever I was being "the old Bud." There was plenty of motivation for me: I didn't want a suicide or two in the family. Although neither Ched nor Hank ever mentioned the word suicide, it seemed to hover over the boys during our family therapy. The word scared me.

Betty decided to have a talk with the boys on her own. She wanted to know if they were gay. She dreaded the answer, but she knew she had to tell them that she loved them regardless. Hank nudged Ched in the ribs.

"Go on and explain it, brother of mine."

"Ouch. Mom, we're not gay. I know you're relieved to hear that. Both of us would like to have girl friends. But we will never get pretty girls. You're beautiful, Mom. You've set a very high bar. We don't know why we turned out like we did, but pretty girls don't think much of us. We will never find girlfriends that will live up to the Sterling standard. You've been a good mom, but you're a tough act to follow."

"Oh, my God," said Betty. "And here I thought it was all your father's fault."

"We don't want to crush you and Dad with blame, Mom," said Hank. "We don't think it's your fault. It's just the way things are. Ched and I both caught a bad break with our genes. That's all there is to it." Betty started to cry.

"You think you've avoided all the pitfalls that life can throw at you, and produced two healthy, whole children, but that's not good enough in this crummy world. You've always been beautiful to me, both of you. Always."

"Well, you see us through a mother's eyes," said Ched. Betty cried and cried. She told me about her talk with the boys while I was getting ready for bed. She started to cry again. I had trouble understanding how my boys were so lacking in confidence. I thought I had done everything a man should do to make his kids proud of themselves. No, that was wrongheaded thinking. But I wasn't sure what to do, what to think.

The therapist thought the boys might benefit from medicine, and had them see a psychiatrist. They both ended up on Paxil. After a few weeks, they both reported they felt better.

'You really feel better?" I asked.

"Good enough to go on a date!" said Hank.

"Me, too," said Ched. "This stuff is the bomb." And so the boys did go on a few dates. Not with girls of the Sterling standard, but pleasant young women who were interesting and fun to be with. For a few months, things seemed to be looking up in the Smelly-Sterling household. But both boys experienced sexual problems on the Paxil. They kept reducing their doses to deal with it, and that made the drugs less effective. I had trouble understanding why they fooled around with their dosage.
"Dad, it's like this," said Ched. "The Paxil makes you feel good enough to date. But it numbs your orgasm. You get almost no pleasure in it." I was almost happy to be talking about sex with my son. Was he doing the deed with a girl? Apparently. But pleasure or not, he might still get her pregnant. I felt like I needed to remind him about it.

"Ched, are you taking precautions? Using a condom? You don't want to get a girl pregnant. Believe me, some of my friends had their lives ruined that way."

"Oh, Dad, kids nowadays do oral sex almost exclusively. We aren't stupid."

"Oh. Good. What about Hank, is he savvy with this oral sex thing?"

"Yes, Hank knows. Everybody our age knows. Cunnilingus and fellatio are perfect. Kids who have intercourse are just dumbasses."

"Well, aren't there some other drugs your doctor can try you on? Things are going so well, I'd hate to see life go downhill again over a little thing like sex. Just kidding. I know it's practically the most important thing in the world to a man. Especially a young man."

"That's what we're doing right now, trying different drugs and different dosages."

"Well, let me know how it goes. This was a good talk." I was so happy. Could a drug fix a family? Evidently. I was, as they say, guardedly optimistic.

Some months passed and Ched kept me updated. There had been some improvement with the sexual side-effects, but they were still tweaking things. Meanwhile, my sons were gallivanting through the gardens of cunnilingus and fellatio. I was damned proud of them. The Smelly brothers were - well, I'll spare the jokes.

Then the worst thing that ever happened to the martial arts occurred. Mixed martial arts became popular. Anything went in MMA - you could punch a guy in the nuts, choke him, head butt him, disconnect his joints - whatever it took to get him to tap out. It was a black eye to the great disciplines of traditional martial arts. Enrollment in our school dropped gradually and we saw other schools closing altogether. Parents didn't want their kids learning that vicious stuff they saw on closed-circuit television. Fortunately the equipment business was still going strong, and we made plenty of money from that. Our kids could still go to college.

A couple more years went by and we had to close the studio. That damned MMA did us in. Ched was in his first year of college and Hank couldn't wait to join him. I felt like we had some breathing room with the boys - we could relax a little. They had girlfriends and they really seemed to brighten up. Was I happy in my new guise? The calm, non-competitive, sensitive Dad? Well, probably not. But a parent will do anything to save their children. I think I had put a lot of emotional energy into being cocky. Maybe my name was the cause of it all. I was so stubborn. I tried to make the world conform to it. The new me was not as concerned with upholding the name of Smelly. Betty, Ched and Hank were shocked when I called a family meeting about it.

"Guys, I'm going to make this short and sweet - I'm changing my last name. I'm through being a Smelly." All three of them rushed me with hugs and tears. Betty especially.

"Will you be a Sterling?" Hank asked.

"That would make the most sense," I told him. Later that night in bed, Betty hugged me and hugged me.

"You could've been named Hitler and I still would've married you. But I'm so glad we're all the same name now. I think things are really looking up for our family."

I look back and my persistence about Smelly seemed like a madness. Why did I make such a big deal about changing it? There's that boxer, he officially changed his name to Marvelous Marvin Hagler. And that basketball player whose legal name is World B. Free. It was easy, they walked into a courtroom and walked out a new fella. And that's exactly what I'm going to do. When I walk out of that courtroom as Wallace Bud Sterling, I will be doing it as a completely new man.

My family was worth it.