Dear Readers,
It wasn’t you that made me go away for so long. No. It was me. It’s me. But before I bedazzle you with half-risen excuses, topped with a comedic garnish, I bring to you something you’ve all been waiting for. Some more Time with Frank & Ada. The next two stories will be featuring my nephew, Chip, a 17-year-old. ‘Nuff said.
My nephew is an avid hockey player. And a few weeks ago, my sister, dad, mom and I attended this sporting event of icicle wonderdom. As these nimble, yet hardy, hockey players scooted around on the metal balance beams beneath their feet displaying their manhood in ways similar to any National Geographic program by throwing other human beings against the wall, Ada and I were just trying to keep up.
“Now, I don’t like it when they do that to each other,” Ada says.
“It’s called checking ma, and it’s part of the game,” I retort.
“Well, it’s just not very Christian.”
“Christ was in a desert! And even if — nevermind. Pass me some more skittles.”
Now, Ada has been to a few hundred more of these games than I have. Mostly because she’s a good grandmother and I, a dead-beat aunt. Seeing as how I am not well versed in hockey speak, I could only pick up subtle cues of what to cheer based on shouts coming from those around me as they stood (because no one sits at hockey games). “Com’on Mister,” my sister shouts, “Roll AROUND THE BEND!” This is, of course is my interpretation of what was being said, admitting fully that I’m greatly ad libing the content of hockey-mom expletives. It took me a good 20 minutes until I felt comfortable enough to openly express my satisfaction of plays that I did not understand with a subtle golf clap. Emotions are frowned upon in my family. I took to heart this reality in all and any sports events. Ada interrupts my childhood psychoanalysis,
“I don’t even know what happens most of the time. I just like that they keep moving.”
Someone scores a goal. I golf clap. Ada gets hyper and waves her arms frantically, only from the elbows down in a conductor type motion and asks my sister,
“Did he… Hey! Did he… Yes, Did Chip make the goal??? DID HE MAKE THE GOAL?? No? They’re just hugging? Oh, ok.”
For that comment, I golf clapped at my mother. I may not understand her most of the time, I just like that she keeps movin’.
