To All Three of My Readers,
Since there are only a handful of you, many of you probably already know the nuttiness that is my parents. The examples of this nuttiness are bountiful – whether it was my mother telling me not to drink the wine at church after my first communion because she was afraid I’d become an alcoholic at age 8, to my dad buying my very tiny, pre-pubescent, 12-year-old body a size 13 in women’s jeans for Christmas and not thinking twice that 3 of me could fit in one pair. He claimed, “you wanted slouch jeans, I got you slouch jeans.”
From now on, I’d like to deem any moments that feature the glorious examples of my parents as, “Time with Frank and Ada.”
During Thanksgiving my mother found out that my 15-year-old nephew was penalized during his hockey game for trash-talking. Pleased, she was not.
Ada: What are you saying to these boys to get you penalized?
Nephew: I don’t know. I don’t remember.
(My mother doesn’t seem to understand the gruffness of hockey. Not trash-talking during a hockey game would be like not having a tickle fight after an all boys choir concert.)
Ada: I want you to be a good Christian.
Me: Well that’s why he got suspended.
Ada: Why?
Me: Because he asked if the kid was a good Christian—and then called him a d-bag.
Then, on our way home from Thanksgiving, my fiancé and I were doing a crossword puzzle in the backseat while my mom and dad were in the front (we carpool. we’re green like that. we’re also green by not burning tires. or running a covert meth lab. or math lab.)
The clue was, “stomps”:
Frank: Well, what is stomping? Is it an animal stomping or a human stomping?
Ada: What’s the difference if a human stomps or an animal stomps?
Frank: Listen, I’m asking if they want a word for a human stomping or an animal stomping.
Ada: There is no difference. Why would you describe stomping by an animal or a human? (to us) Do you see that? Do you see how he always takes the corners to sharp and we always hit the curb? It’s going to ruin the alignment on my car. Stop jingling the change in your pocket, Frank!
You know what I think? Dorothy was right. There IS no place like home.
