2001-07-13 - 11:02 p.m.
Toasting My Folks

Toasting My Folks

I have a bunch of late-breaking stories I want to tell, but I’m pooped out tonight. So instead, here is the “speech” I gave at Mom and Dad’s anniversary party last Saturday night:

Given how odd my parents are, it’s a wonder I turned out so normal.

I am uniquely positioned, I suppose, to tell stories about Mom and Dad’s weirdnesses, their eccentricities, bizarre experiences over four decades of wedded life.

But, good English major that I am, instead I shall prove my point with a linguistic analysis. Because, really, the strangest thing about Mom and Dad is the way they talk.

Perhaps it had something to do with Mom being a preacher’s kid, and maybe Dad coming from an upright, respected family too; whatever it was, growing up, I didn’t learn many four letter words.

Rather, what I learned was a profusion of nonsensical pseudo-cuss words.

You know, foul phrases like:

Oh, for Pete’s sake!

Oh, for crying out loud!

Cripes almighty!

Jesus murphy!

And my personal favorite,

Holy cow!

Yes sirree, Mom and Dad cannot be accused of potty-mouth. One could, however,blame them for rendering me unintelligible in those first few years out in the wider world. I didn’t realize how strange such folksy curses sounded until I got to university and my new friends would laugh at me.

And there are a few other choice phrases. Here’s one I’ve never been able to figure out. You tell Dad something he doesn’t believe–oh, I don’t know, like “Jean Chretien is the best thing that ever happened to Canada”–and his response would likely be, Like Fun He Is...Like FUN.

Huh? Like “fun”? What on–oh, here’s another one–God’s Green Earth does that mean?

Not to be outdone, Mom has contributed her own unique contribution to the family’s language soup. Tell her something she doesn’t particularly believe, and her scoffing reply is likely to be, Puh! And another purple cow flew by...

But I’m no dummy; now that I’ve got a few degrees behind my name, it’s plain to see that Mom has been somewhat of a poet all these years–a sarcastic one at that–bamboozling us all with such metaphorical excess.

Metaphors don’t quite explain this next one, though. When I was a kid and Mom got that intense yearning to houseclean–which, sadly, traumatically, was often–she’d never say “Alrighty, time to clean this place from top to bottom!” Oh no. What she used to say, was, “OK dokey, ‘hubby’, you kids: you’re all pigs. Look at this place! It’s filthy. I’m gonna clean it from eyebrow to breakfast.”

Perhaps I’ll need to get another degree to pick apart that particular Mom-ism.

Last but not least, how many of you, I wonder, can claim a pet ventriloquist for a father? Yes sir; I must admit I’m rather proud of you Dad. Sure, the actual voice-throwing part needs a little work, but still.

Do you folks know what I’m referring to here? Ever since I can remember, Dad has always talked to himself through his dogs. They call him “Yodge”. He has conversations with himself that way, in the oddest, whiniest-sounding dog voice I’ve ever heard. “Hey Yodge, give me a bone. Yodge? Aw c’mon Yodge!”

Surface observations aside, it’s time now for a deeper linguistic analysis of Mom and Dad. The words that define them for me are their loving words, their supportive, caring words. And more than what they say, it’s the way my parents have always followed up their words with their deeds. That’s it, really; that’s Mom and Dad in a nutshell.

Words are easy to say; Hallmark cards express most of the sentiments that families are supposed to feel. But Mom and Dad have always gone so much further. Over the years, words they have spoken–and words they have heard from us–have sometimes been difficult to utter, to hear. The amazing part, always, has been the action that’s followed. The love that leaks out, spilling between them, into their childrens’ lives, the lives of family and friends.

What they keep teaching me is that words don’t mean a whole heck of a lot. Not without that vital next step: putting our bodies and our hearts in service of the truths we blurt.

So, okay, let me blurt:

Mom and Dad, happy 40th. Holy cow! I love you...from eyebrow to breakfast.

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