I'm Being Funny

            by Gabe Wolf

 

Jewish Grandparents

 

Having a Jewish grandmother is just like having a Jewish mother.  Except times two.  It’s a scientific fact that your Jewish grandmother will call you more often when she is either more or less than one hundred miles away. 

“GABE! How are you my dear?”

“I’m great Grandma.  I’m kind of on the other line though…is it important? Can I call you back?”

“Who are you on the other line with?”

“Grandpa.  Is there anything you need to tell me since you called four minutes ago?”

“No, just calling to see how you are.”

My grandfather was a boxer when he was in the army, his boxing name was Murphy.  He still hasn’t lost his competitive spirit, and loves to be part of any team.  Especially when his favorite player does well on a team, he loves to take credit for a player’s performance.  Every year, when Cal plays Stanford in The Big Game, he’s been known to sneak over to his friend Tom’s house and paint his car blue and gold.  Tom went to Stanford.

  He comes to about four of my hockey games a year, and he has seen me play well in some games. One year, when I was playing in a tournament in San Jose we made it to the championship game.  The host team was the San Jose Jr. Sharks, the team who we were facing in the finals.  Notice the Jr., it might be handy later.  We lost a great game by one goal, and while it was disappointing, we were glad to be in the finals.

A couple of weeks later, I was having dinner at my grandparent’s house and meeting some of their friends.  A man walked up to me, so I introduced myself.

“Hi, I’m Gabe.” I said shaking the man’s hand.

“Hi, I’m Don Newman.  Are you the Gabe who beat the San Jose Sharks at a tournament?”

  The San Jose Sharks.  The professional hockey team.

I’ve come to realize as I get older, I take my grandmother for granted less.  It’s not that I ever took her for granted.  I took her food for granted.  It used to be that her incessant offers for food were annoying.  It got to the point where I was showering one night while at their house, and my grandmother came into the bathroom with a four course meal.   It looked great, mind you, but we had just eaten dinner.  And I can’t multitask like that.  She really thought I could wash my hair, and eat her gefilte fish. 

Because I couldn’t eat in the shower, my Grandma left me a little surprise under my pillow that night.  A heaping plate of kugel.  It was great kugel, don’t get me wrong.  But under my pillow? 

One can only eat so much noodle kugel, after they’ve eaten a whole brisket.  And after the kugel, one can only eat so much vodka cake. 

“Vodka cake you say?”

Yes. Vodka cake.  The alcohol bakes off in the oven.  That hasn’t stopped my grandmother from perfecting her recipe.  She’s always sure to maintain a one to one ratio of shots in the cake mix to shots in her mouth.

It’s not that my grandmother is an alcoholic; she just enjoys a nice drink. Like vodka. On the rocks.

Waiters and waitresses often ask her, “Would you like me to freshen your dri-”

“Yes.”

 

The Sister

My sister’s the type of person who refuses to watch the fireworks on the Fourth of July.  She somehow justifies to herself that they are:

1.      Racist

2.      Sexist

3.      Ageist

4.      Classist

5.      Most likely homophobic

She manages, however, to celebrate Dia De Los Muertos with a full alter and mask- it would be insensitive of her not to.  Our blood is all Eastern European, by the way.

I can’t even try to do a good deed anymore without her interfering.  We were sitting at lunch one day and I was talking about how I was working to get more recycling at school.  She hated my idea.  She said it didn’t address environmental racism.

“Environmental racism?!?!” I asked.

“Yeah, it’s a serious issue.”

“I don’t even know what that is.”

“You should. I can explain it to you if you want-”

“No.  My idea is just too flawed.  It doesn’t address the fact that United Sates government agriculture subsidies have contributed to a declining economy in Papua New Guinea.”

“Now you’re thinking Gabe!”

Mollie has to do everything her own way.  Even when she screws up and needs help, it has to be her helping herself.  I’ve been the IT department for my household for the last ten years, much to my sister’s dissatisfaction.   She got her own computer for the first time when she went off to college.  Every time she came home, there would be a new problem with her computer.  She would wait until she was home to fix it just to prove to me that she could.  But she would never be able to fix it.  Ever. She would come to me in tears an hour before she had to leave for her flight and make me fix it. Very quickly.  While she was screaming at me that I was doing it wrong.

Gosh I love my sister.

 

 

Psychologist/Therapist/Psychoanalyst-mother

 

“Gabe I’m Home.” Translation: Gabe I’m Home

“Hi mom.”  Translation: Already?!? Don’t you have more patients to see, or appointments to go to? Can’t I just watch TV in peace?

“How was your day?” Translation: You only responded with two words.  There must be one of two things going on: you’re clinically depressed and need immediate help.  Or you experienced a traumatic event in your anal stage and are being defiant.  Let’s talk about your mother for a minute…

“Fine.”  Translation: I just missed a line on The Office that could have possibly alluded to something possibly funny. You know I love The Office. Why are you talking to me now? Can’t I just watch TV in peace?
            “Well how do you feel about it being fine?”  Translation: I think that your mother is the key to your clinical depression.  Was she not nurturing enough with you as a young child?  Was there a time you can remember when she deprived you of something you wanted?

“Fine.”  Translation: THE TV!!!! IT’S ON!!!

This sort of exchange wasn’t all that uncommon between my mom and me for a long time.  In fact, it wouldn’t be all that uncommon now, if I answered my mom.  It’s not that I dislike her, although sometimes it may seem that way, it’s just that I know better than to answer my mom.  That is just one of many behaviors you learn when:

a.       your mom is a psychologist

b.      all of  your mom’s friends are psychologists

c.       your aunt and uncle are psychologists

d.      all of your aunt and uncles’ friends are psychologists

e.       you get the picture

Some are quick to point out that there are benefits from having a mother in the Freudian sciences, and I’m quick to point out that those benefits aren’t…well, benefits.  Supposedly psychologists are good listeners.  Supposedly going to the DMV is quick and easy.