thank you mudda thank you fadda
It’s Father’s Day, June 17th. It also happens to be my mother’s birthday. As neither of them are alive so that I can forget to call them, I am free to make lame jokes like that. You must forgive my periodic awkwardness, as I continue to step into the strange new world of parentlessness.
This is actually a post about a couple of humorous moments that reminded me of my parents, but I fear I started off on a sad note. See? Awkward!
[confidential to those that have lost a parent/both parents: do you have these awkward moments, too? like, when you can joke about it sometimes but the people in your company react with horror? or something?]
I have been working on this post all week and it just keeps getting more odd and cloudy .. which is reflecting exactly how it all feels right now. So, I’m just carrying on with it (like anyone reads this blog anymore, you silent horde*). We’re getting to the humor, I swear! Here it comes.
Two things happened at last week’s improv show that brought my mother and father, Maggie and Jim, close to my heart:
As I first stepped on stage and into the bath of stage lights, I caught sight of myself in the mirror at the back of the theatre. That was the moment I became queasily aware that my thin cotton shirt became translucent in the bright light. A much more nipplier disaster would have struck if not for my sensible Olga bra. So to you, mom, I raise a vodka-and-diet-tonic in gratitude for insisting that I never let the mammaries run free in public. I give our improv audiences my all, but I do draw the line at my aureole. I sense that Maggie is rolling her eyes now, so I shall move on.
About halfway into the show, I was in a rambling scene between a man and his psychiatrist, played by me. I orchestrated the denouement in which my patient’s id and superego burst of his chest, Alien-style, and engaged in a slapfight. The ego finally emerged to bring on the beatdown, restoring peace to the psyche. And so to you, dad, I raise half-a-light-beer in honor of your life’s profession, psychiatry, which has produced rich mines of comedy gold in so many ways.
That’s the best tribute I can muster right now, my dear parents. But I sense you get the gist.
* the exceptions know who they are. I appreciate you.
Photo: cocktail straws, originally uploaded by spacepleb. Thanks for letting me use it!
I was telling a friend of mine just yesterday that one of the final gifts my father left me after his death was a gift of one more day in the year to do whatever it is I want. Father’s day. No gift to buy, no lengthy car ride through Los Angeles with millions of families of dad’s and grads on their way to Carrow’s for breakfast. Just 24 additional hours of me and my navel in the tub.
And a bottle of gin.
Aw dad….
I raise my bottle and pour a little for you, see!
I’m here! I’m reading! And I feel awkward! Not awkward at the thought of being parentless because I have not encountered that (at least from the parents I physically know… Now – my biological parents… that’s a different kind of parentless-awkwardness :D) – I can’t imagine how that feels Hammy… I feel weepy thinking about it, and my folks are still around… Anyways, no, I don’t feel awkward about that… I feel more awkward about knowing you have an aureole, let alone two of them. Thanks. 🙂
Aw, thanks you guys. As to the single/plural of aureola: aureolae? Aureolii? Ah, whatever it is.. I got two!
Aureoladeehoo!
While I have not lost either of my parents, and don’t pretend to know what you’re going through, I can say I have found myself at many times in my life in those very “awkward moments…when you can joke about it sometimes but the people in your company react with horror? or something?” Most recently when it comes to having a baby/being a parent. I think those moments are awkward because it’s threatening/challenging to others who try to pretend life is full of unicorns and rainbows. Get real, people, and sober up… then meet me for happy hour.
Cheers to your parents. And good wishes to you. May you always have your two aureolae.
An aureola or aureole (diminutive of Latin aura, “air”) is the radiance of luminous cloud which, in paintings of sacred personages, surrounds the whole figure.
In the earliest periods of Christian art this splendour was confined to the figures of the persons of the Godhead.
Wow…you own two of the three Aureole in all of Christendom. Those must be beatific Mams…meaning that one miracle must be proven to have taken place through the intercession of the beatified and be-aureoled mams.
Leave it to a tit post to finally get some comments! Not that I mind {shakes tatas}
My glass is raised in your collective honor.
I experience those awkward moments whenever I answer the question “Where does your dad live?” with “I have no idea.” It makes it worse if I make the “koo-koo” sign, circling one finger around my ear, and mouthing “He’s CRAZY!” I like to draw out the awkwardness when I can.
XO
Violet
I read this when you posted it – but didn’t quite manage to comment on it right away – (you know why). I keep coming back to what your wrote, though – you made me think.
There are (at least) to kinds of awkwardnesses. One comes from stupidity – a social punishment for being short sighted or lame or racist or… Sadly, the persons saying such things seldom pick up the awkwardness that shouts to him: Hey – we don’t even bother to comment this – we’re making a distance to you! That awkward moment is all about the “pitcher”. But then there’s the other kind. The kind that happens when someone dares to make a crack in the facade – share some emotions – be a bit intimate or enthusiastic or having the nerve to step out of the social railroad track. That moment is about the receiver who isn’t ready or didn’t even see the ball coming. Those moments of awkwardness are really valuable and show faith in the fellow human beings. Shame on us if we don’t manage to catch that ball!
Sorry about this loooong comment – as I said – you made me think 🙂
I can’t imagine (even if I try) how you feel – but I’m ready for you to tell me – whenever you need!
Hi Becky! Look at me, I’m reading, albeit a bit late.
I hear you with the orphan awkwardness. Will’s parents are both long dead so it is easy to joke about because the wounds are 20+ years old now. But people who don’t know this, they get a little squirmy.
When we got engaged, my mom & I were talking on the phone about the most important thing related to weddings: who is paying for what. My mother said, “well I guess Will’s parents won’t be paying for the rehearsal dinner… BWAH HAHA HA!” When I told Will she said this, his surprise at her harshness was outweighed by his pride at her inappropriateness. He does appreciate inappropriateness.