Let’s be honest: we all know the feeling of being in the shadow of a giant. For me, it’s trying to make a decent pot of coffee while my mom’s perfect brew haunts the kitchen. For David Como, the son of the legendary crooner Perry Como, that shadow wasn’t just a kitchen—it was a global spotlight that followed his dad everywhere, even to the grocery store.
Perry Como was the guy who made everyone feel cozy. He had that sweater-vest energy, like a favorite uncle who always smelled like menthol and had a cashmere blanket on his lap. David, born in 1948, grew up in a world where his dad’s voice was the soundtrack to millions of lives, but at home, Perry was just “Dad.”
Imagine trying to borrow the car when your dad is a national treasure. “Hey, Pop, can I take the Chevy to the drive-in?” “Sure, son, but first let me sing a quick medley of ‘Magic Moments’ for the neighbors.” David’s life was a constant tug-of-war between normal teenage angst and the surreal reality of being a celebrity offspring.
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You ever try to bake cookies that don’t look like sad, lumpy rocks? That’s how David must have felt whenever he tried to make a name for himself. The Como name was like a giant, golden Christmas ornament—beautiful, but easy to break if you touched it wrong. David didn’t become a famous singer; he chose a quieter path, working in business and real estate far from the microphones.
And honestly? That takes a special kind of grit. Most of us would love to have any famous relative to drop at a party. “Oh, you know Perry Como? He’s my dad.” But for David, that card came with a side of pressure: you’re supposed to be talented, too.
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It’s like being the kid of a five-star chef. You can’t just microwave a Hot Pocket in peace. Everyone expects a soufflé. David, by choosing a normal life, basically said, “Nah, I’ll take the Hot Pocket, thanks.” And good for him.
Life in the Slow Lane
Perry Como was famous for being unfussy. He wore cardigans on TV, for crying out loud. That chill vibe probably rubbed off on David. I picture him as a kid who didn’t throw tantrums when the paparazzi showed up at his Little League game. He just shrugged and asked if they had any snacks.
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There’s a story—and I’m pretty sure it’s true because the internet never lies—about Perry taking David to a recording studio. David fell asleep on a couch while his dad sang ‘Catch a Falling Star’. That’s the ultimate definition of easy-going right there. You can’t buy that level of unbothered.
Think about your own family. Your dad might not be a famous singer, but he probably has a thing he does that drives you crazy. For David, his dad’s thing was being universally adored. That’s a whole different kind of “Dad, please stop telling that joke at the dinner table.”
The Quiet Death of a Private Man
David Como passed away in 2001 at the age of 53. It wasn’t a headline that shook the world—not the way his father’s passing did a few years later. But for those who knew him, it was the end of a quiet chapter. He died in a small town in Florida, far from the bright lights of New York and Hollywood.
Image result for david como son of perry como
And here’s the funny thing about death when you’re famous-adjacent: people feel a little pang of connection. You read the obituary and think, “Oh, I remember Perry Como. My grandmother loved him. David was his son?” It’s like discovering the quiet kid in school had a superhero dad. You realize that behind every great legend is a family that just wants to borrow the car.
David’s story isn’t about failure or tragedy. It’s about choosing the ordinary in an extraordinary situation. It’s the equivalent of your friend who owns a cool vintage car but never drives it because the radio doesn’t work and the cup holder is missing. He owns the cool thing, but he just wants a working cup holder.
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What We Can Learn from David Como
We obsess over fame like it’s a magic potion. But David’s death reminds us that the magic potion is mostly flat soda. You get the fame, but you also get the awkwardness of never knowing if people like you for you, or because your dad wore sweater vests on national TV.
So, next time you’re feeling jealous of a celebrity family, remember David Como. He probably spent his Sundays watching football, grilling burgers, and not singing a single note. And that sounds like a pretty perfect life to me. We should all be so lucky to live and die on our own terms, one lazy, un-famous afternoon at a time.
Cheers to you, David. You kept the hot pockets warm for the rest of us.