They’re immigrants. Mom's got a pronounced accent. My dad lost his thirty or forty years ago.
Mom and pop have got a special way with words.
These days, I occasionally report my conversations with my parents to my friend Kris. My conversations with mom and pop, as I recount them, are, she says, “priceless.” I have a duty, she insists, to “record history.”
OK, then.
Now, I don’t want to just make fun of my folks. They’re very generous, very warm, very talented. Everybody says so, and what everybody says is true.
But I value good writing and clear thinking. I value using words carefully and precisely. And that means that conversing with my folks can be—well, challenging.
* * *
The family is going through a difficult time. My sister, Fanny, an artist living in the Bay Area, is scheduled for surgery later this month to remove precancerous cells.
Yesterday, I dropped by my folks’ place—to continue my photographic preservation project—and, at one point, I had the following conversation with mom and dad.
Mom: Fanny called today, and they gave her a stress test. Something about a treadmill. And she did real well!At that point, I threw in the towel. I just sat back. Soon, I went back to scanning slides.
Chunk: That's great!
Dad: Well, they don't have all the results yet.
Mom: They do, but the doctor can't interpret them.
Chunk: He can't interpret them? How come?
Mom: Well, it's got to be interpreted by the specialist.
Chunk: OK, so has "it" been interpreted by the specialist?
Mom: I don't know. But Fanny says the guy said that he can't say anything, but he said it looked good to him.
Chunk: Wait a minute. —What guy? The guy who ran the test?
Mom: I don't know. I guess so. Maybe.
Dad: These tests involve a pulmonary.....
Chunk: —Which tests? All the parts of the stress test?
Dad: When I had my stress test [my dad had a heart “episode” about two years ago], it involved...
Chunk: OK, that's fine, but I want to know about Fanny's stress test first. So she's had the test, right? And her doctor isn't gonna interpret the results, cuz a specialist is gonna do that, only he hasn't done that yet, and so the guy or gal who ran the treadmill test, who isn't the specialist, said—informally—that the “results” looked good to him. Is that it?
Dad: Well, my test wasn't a treadmill; it was...
Chunk: Um, OK, but right now I'm trying to find out about Fanny's test.
Dad: You don’t want to know about my test?
Chunk: Well, I do. But, first, I want to know how things went with Fanny's test. She's facing surgery, and I want to know why they tested her, and what the test shows.
Mom: Yeah. She did well! Did I tell you, she's making dresses now?
Chunk: —Dresses? Who...
Mom: —Well, Fanny is who. Who did you think we were talking about?
Dad: They’ve got this pulmonary....
Mom: —We're not talking about that. The dresses will be big enough for her, apparently.
Chunk: Big enough for Fanny?
Mom: No, for Susan [my sister-in-law]! She needs maternity dresses!
Dad: These tests, they’re not perfect. My friend Alex passed it with flying colors and then he got a blood cloth.
Chunk: [I pause. Why correct them? Has it ever helped? I simply repeat the phrase:] A blood cloth.
Mom: Yeah, a blood cloth. He died, but she's beautiful. You wanna meet her?
* * *
JUST NOW, my dad dropped by. I opened my front door. He handed me something wrapped in foil. "A veggie burger," he said.
"Oh, great. Thanks!"
DAD: "Have you got the ketchup?"
CHUNK: "The ketchup? What ketchup?"
DAD: "Don't you have the ketchup?"
CHUNK: "Well, I've got ketchup."
DAD: "OK, then. Enjoy!" He walks back to his truck, drives away. He's as happy as a lark.
9 comments:
The ketchup is next to the mayo we discussed last week.
Who is saying "I love you"?
You're a member of this family, right? Have been for decades, right? Their context is your context, right? It's best to buck up and realize that you do understand them and you can't change them. And the veggie burger anecdote is dear.
I enjoy you Chunk, but it sounds like you are the one who is frustrating to communicate with. Just chill. :)
I feel your pain man, my girlfriend's parents are the same way - and if you even TRY to do what you did with your parents (correcting them, or forcing some sort of topic to stay) you just get called "mean" and "frustrating."
It's very frustrating.
Language is how we communicate with each other, I don't understand why so many people are willing to just "let it slide." Master your language, master your self expression.
Bravo 11:09! You master that comma use, that pronoun reference, that use of quotation marks with cliché. Uh-huh. You go. Language exists within a cultural context, so it carries so much more than information. Listen.
Chunk, you clearly cherish your folks' charming use of language, frustrating though it may be. At a recent family function, my Dad told nearly everyone (individually) some crass joke--a petition to change the name hemeroid to ass-teroid. Count your blessings, my friend.
Hey, anybody who knows Chunk knows that he loves his family. And nobody would say that he's difficult to communicate with.
Hilarious!
My own parents rarely speak, unless spoken to. At dinner one hears the moving and creaking of jaws, an occasional "looks like it might rain," and "could you pass the salt?" They think I'm a lunatic chatterbox 'cause I like to initiate conversation at the table.
Other times, they talk just a little too softly for the other to hear (both have hearing deficiencies); then peevishly repeat the unheard question, then even more peevishly SHOUT it out when the other doesn't get it. The hapless guest (me) watches all this unfold as it has a thousand times before.
Why are parents so nutty?--but dear?
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