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D ear Scott Baio,

I happened to catch a recent episode of your celebrity reality TV show Scott Baio is 46 … And Pregnant and I have to say, man, I am not impressed.

Right off the top, that title is totally inaccurate. At no point in the entire episode did you ever appear on camera swollen with child. I know it’s supposed to be a “reality” show, but I’m sure it would have been improved tenfold if you spent the whole series made up like a pregnant woman. Maybe then you might perhaps get a tiny clue as to what your poor fiancée must be going through. I can only imagine how tough it must be for to her look down at her belly and then up at you and realize that she’s going to have to two babies to take care of.

I can understand why you’re doing the show. Scott Baio is 45 … and Single was a surprise hit. I watched it a couple of times. It was an enjoyable if not slightly icky thrill to watch a former child actor carousing with his entourage of Entourage-wannabes in search of the perfect girl to settle down with. Only, the problem is that the perfect girl has settled down with your spermatozoa and now your carefree lifestyle of prowling strip clubs and racetracks is at an end, and that’s freaking you out just a little bit, isn’t it?

I can’t tell you how embarrassing it was to watch the scene where you attended a birthing class. At first you just seemed nervous and uncomfortable, squirming in your seat and rolling your eyes, but out of nowhere you just lost it. Did you really need to go on and on about how the charts and illustrations were boring and stupid and storm out of the class blathering on about how you just couldn’t “get it”? Did you happen to catch the look in the eyes of all the other guys in the class? You know, the guys who were there to learn about the impending birth of their child and the part they would play in that event? It was a look that said, “Oh my god, Chachi from Happy Days has just lost his mind!”

Man, you were Chachi. Chachi! First cousin to Arthur Fonzarelli. You know, The Fonz. In the TV world of the 1970s, he was the coolest guy around. He pretty much patented the whole “thumbs up” move. And you brushed against that greatness every week, or at least until you kinda threw it all away with Joanie Loves Chachi, but hey, I can overlook that, as well as your rather dubious fashion decision to wear a red bandana around your thigh.

And after that, you were Charles in Charge. Think about that for a second. Charles in Charge! You see that “in Charge” part of the title? You were a live-in babysitter-slash-manny who kept three precocious kids (and Willie Aames!) on the straight and narrow with homespun humour and common sense. One of those kids even grew up to be one of those orange bathing-suited Baywatch babes. Surely you feel a lump of pride in your throat every time she bounces across the beach in slow motion.

N ow that you’re about to become a father, you seem to have forgotten all that. Where was Charles or Chachi when you toured the hospital with your fiancée and you almost passed out? At first all the doctors thought it was just a funny gag -- oh look, he’s pretending to be light-headed and stumbling around the delivery room and now he’s making like he’s going to put his head in that toilet and throw up -- but then it became obvious that the reality of the situation was making you sick to your stomach. It was a good thing there was a nurse nearby to help you sit on the couch and to fetch you some water or else they would have had to rename the show Scott Baio is 46 … and has Died of Embarrassment.

Every first-time father-to-be goes through a moment where it feels like someone have poured a bucket of ice down your pants. I know I sure did. Up until then you see your impending fatherhood as more of an abstract concept. The male brain has a remarkable ability to push things that require maturity and responsibility across a river of denial and through a fog of ignorance. We all get nervous and afraid and seriously consider disappearing into the night with the hoboes on the next train out of town. But while most of us jump off the freight car before the city limit, you seem prepared to ride the rails right into a meltdown. Just take a deep breath, put down the bindle and go home to your nice pregnant fiancée.

Look, I’m not going to get all Dr. Phil on you. As I saw in your show, you already employ a life coach, and who used the old “life as a roller coaster” metaphor and suggested you “get on the ride.” I hope you don’t pay her very much. My only qualification is that I was once where you are, and by that I mean that I was once an expectant father too, not a former child actor. All I can say is that it’s time for you to Man Up. Have a talk with your fiancée about your fears but be willing to work at them. Go back to birthing class. (You might want to apologize to the instructor first, maybe take him to one of your former child actor parties or something, but not to the strip bar. Remember, you don’t do that sort of thing any more.) Maybe read a couple of books on the subject, or check out some helpful websites that deal with this type of thing. Drop me an e-mail and I’ll recommend some to you.

Or you know, you could always pick up the phone and call the Fonz. He always seemed to know what to do. Then again, the Fonz gave every woman in Milwaukee a ride on his motorcycle, if you know what I mean, so maybe he’s not your go-to guy. Hey, what’s Potsie up to these days?

Your pal,

Stephen Recker