We also enjoy quoting movies, often at inappropriate times. Many of our favorites include The Royal Tennenbaums or Waiting for Guffman. ("Can we get in your backyard ma'am? We've got a couple of boys back there...)
We have been known to drive my poor mother insane with the ridiculous quotes that fly from our mouths, particularly when she is attempting to have a normal conversation or make some kind of plan.
One of my very favorite memories is when I discovered the kind of humor my father had, and at the same time realized, it too was my own. When Jimmy and I were young, we were of course handed the occasional "tall tale" as an explanation for this or that. Like many of us as parents have been known to do (Ella: "mama, where do babies come from? Me: "we bought you at the Razzle Dazzle... They have an entire selection of quality babies in the back...")
But one of my favorite "yarns" was one that really had no anchor in any of our reality other than to function as funny, at least to my dad. He decided to tell us that he was a ninja. And when asked, by my brother of course, to demonstrate his martial arts, he responded by telling us that he couldn't, because he wasn't a combative ninja, he was the kind of ninja that went around speaking at ninja conventions...amazing.
Even as I write this, i am laughing. Why? What possessed him to tell us this absurdity?!
What I like to believe was that it was just fun. It was humor. It was giving us the opportunity to have this silliness ingrained in our brains and memories. It was a building block in the foundations of our own humor. Something to build off of as we grew. It may sound crazy to some, but I
Am so relieved to have the ability to say something ludicrous to my child, and be rewarded with ringing sound of her laughter and her shining face staring at me, (mommy?! Did you just say that?!?) it is just one of the many gifts given to me by my dad.
With me being sick, I often wonder if my father's humor has protected him. If its his suit of armor when the going has gotten tough. I know I've relied heavily on it, because really how else do you get through something like this?
I have often envisioned the "funny" and laughter around me as a swirly, liquid-like barrier. The not so funny tries to penetrate, but it ends up bouncing right off. It can't get to me in there.
When I begin to contemplate what this must be like for my parents, again, what I've said before, upsetting the natural order- your child going before you, I truly cannot imagine. Because there is such a great difference between parenting a sick child, and parenting itself. You can handle the regular stuff, the messes, the boy/girl troubles, tantrums, missing toys, the first driving license. All of that is outlined in the handbook. But to try to imagine your life, with your child taken from you by a terrible disease, where is the chapter on that one? And that's not so funny.
But another great gift passed down to me by my dad is to live in the here and now. And one of the great things that has come of that is my relationship with my father has strengthened. It is more resolute. I feel like we talk more. And that it's ok if not all those talks are funny. We know our humor is still there, lurking close to the surface, but we can keep it down on the days when I just want curl up and cry, and ask my dad why life has to be this hard? And I know he doesn't have the answers, but it really is wonderful to have that simply, unyeilding support. The support I get from my father everyday.
Dad I am more grateful to you than you will ever know. I am so happy I'm your daughter, and that we have filled our lives together with so much laughter. Thank you for being who you are. I love you with all my heart.
