Not too much to write about

“I like how you handled the thing between the girls,” Bethany commented to me about my column as we were driving home in the van last week after dropping Ellen off at her grandparent’s house to spend the night. We would have to get up before five the next morning in order to get her older sister, Grace to the hospital by six to get her tonsils and adenoids out at eight.

“Thanks,” I responded. She chuckled. Was it that cute a column or was it funny that I’d thank her for the encouragement. Or was it just funny that I tried to logic-and-reason/lecture/explain two preschoolers out of an argument caused by the older one not understanding that the younger one was just copying her every syllable?

“Heh,” she half laughed and half sighed, “It’s just that Gracie’s life is out there for the world to see, played out in the newspaper,” she contemplated. (or something to that effect, I may not be quoting her verbatim here…I suppose that’s why so many writers turn to fiction- because our memories aren’t good enough to maintain journalistic integrity so we make up what we didn’t remember accurately. That’s probably also why many humorists avoid writing about family- you know, that whole “never mix business with pleasure” thing or something like that. Who wants to offend your own family by writing about them? Am I right?).

“What ‘bout my life?” Gracie wondered as she leaned toward the front from her favorite spot in the middle of the very back seat.

“Doh,” I winced like Homer Simpson getting caught doing something dumb, “duh, well, uh…” I stammered. I figured it was safe to write about people who can’t read about themselves yet.

“Oh,” Beth jumped in to save me, “We were just talking about something you’re Daddy wrote about you and your sister in the NEWSpaper.” Okay, so she didn’t pronounce it so that ‘NEWS’ is in all capitals like it is on the nameplate- I just can’t get over typing it that way, I feel more official doing it that way.

“My sistah? In da Nooowspapah?” Grace asked.

“Yes, I just said something about how cute you were, you know, in that newspaper I write for?” I assured her. See? I CAN write the word “newspaper,” without writing “NEWS” in all caps. (Shouldn’t that be “ALL CAPS?”)
Apparently that satisfied her, that or the fact that she could see town coming into view.

“Chawter Ohwk! Our town, I seeee it, we home!” she announced.

“Great,” I thought. The gig id up. I’d better find someone else to write about from now on. Ellie had better start being a lot more funny, but what happens when she figures it out? We can’t afford to just keep having kids. It’s not like I’m Dave Barry or something, this column is just a hobby. Teachers don’t get paid enough to procreate just for the sake of writing material. Besides, thats like having kids just to harvest their organs or something, it’s sick. I’d just have to find some other muse.

Other peoples kids? Nah, nobody likes someone who makes fun of other people’s kids, that’s like being a bully or something. Bethany wouldn’t go for that Elementary Guidance Counselors hate bullies. They also hate hate, okay, they ABHOR bullies. She was an English major, maybe she’ll like a word like “abhor.” Oh great, now her approval is so important to me that I’m using really esoteric words just to impress her.

Now I’ve done it, I actually used an obscure word like “esoteric” to describe words that are too hard to understand. DOH!- who uses words like “obscure,” that’s so oblique! DOH!

Oh great, now her approval is so important to me that I’m using really fancy words just to impress her. Now I don’t explain that all three of those words basically mean that most people don’t use any of those three words, some people will be frustrated. Of course if I do explain that all three words pretty much mean the same thing, which is “hard to understand,” some people will be frustrated like I’m talking down to them, some will think I’m trying to sound smart, and some will think I ruined a punny line by analyzing it to death.

Too late. Using such arcane and cryptic language is really just a roundabout way of playing with words to take up time and space on the page. That last sentence was completely useless. When you were a kid and the teacher assigned you an essay that had to me so many words long, did you use too many redundant adverbs and adjectives to make it really, really long or very, very, super boring? I used run-on sentences. Or fragments. Drove ‘em nuts!
“Drove ‘em nuts!?” Can’t you just see a wagon full of pecans behind a tractor? Or maybe a bus load of mental patients? Ah, I crack myself up.

What were we talking about?
Oh yeah, so I don’t fell like I can write about the funny things my daughter says anymore, because basically, I’m afraid that someday I’ll embarrass her…Nah, what are the chances of THAT ever happening. ME embarrass HER? Ha!

It’s too bad too. Just before we left their house, my farmer-in-law Allan said “I suppose we’re going to read about this new adventure- getting her tonsils and adenoids out in that column of yours next week!?” (or something along those lines, I don’t write down everything everybody says to me word-for-word right when they say it. I hope he doesn’t get mad if I just misquoted him. Of course, my eighth grade English Teacher, Mr. Harman would say, “People don’t get ‘mad,’ DOGS GO ‘mad,’ PEOPLE GET angry.” Of course, he also told us that “Ain’t ain’t a word,” but by the time I got out of high school it had been added to the dictionary.)
Dang, I really haven’t written about anything this week have I?
Just then his wife stepped into the room.

“I thought you were going to bed?” she inquired incredulously, as if he were just wasting time on some frivolous hobby.

“I’m almost done,” actually I didn’t say that, I don’t exactly remember what I said.

“However long it is, cut it in half,” she advised, and left the room to go to bed.

Hmmf. I guess I’m lucky she’s not my editor.

So, the moral of the story is, never publish anything that you write about family.

Actually, tonsil and adenoid surgery isn’t all that funny anyway, especially not for the victim- eh, patient. But in case you wondered, Grace was a real trooper, but thank God for Tylenol. Maybe I’ll tell you about some of it next week. Thanks for reading.
The End. 1,132 words, not including these ones. The End, again.
If she could read this, I’m sure Grace would say, “Da-a-ad, Yoouw SILLY!” 1,152- if I counted right.