Paternicalus Loonicus

My parents are loony. Coming home after being a transient for a year sure does change my perspective. I notice their quirks and think, "So this was my childhood? No wonder I'm such a social deviant."

My mom, bless her, cannot sit still. She has to flutter around like a humming bird to keep sane. Otherwise, in any given conversation, she'll interrupt with random objections, statements, gossips, or questions.  I think she really wants to be calm, she just can't.

[at the dinner table]
Me: Dad, so I'm reading this book about intuition -- it's pretty good.
Dad: Really? We have a word for that in Vietnamese... is the book good?
Me: It's ok -- I've haven't fin --
Mom: Here! Eat this! I made it just for you. Me in my old age! Just try it!
Dad: ...
Me: ...
Dad: What's the book's name?
Me: Oh, it's called Blin --
Mom: Look at your dad's hair. He never cuts it anymore. So long!

My dad must have the patience of an elephant. He is the sous chef, the maid service, and the all-purpose handyman and lifter of heavy objects for mom.  Whether he's used to the torrent of tasks or he's actually happy with the role of Mom's Little Helper, I don't know.. but as mom said, "I know his limit.. I push and he gets mad -- but it's ok, he doesn't stay mad very long. A couple of hours and he loves me again! Don't you, you old coot?"

So with Mom I can't get a word in. She has the attention span of a peanut.  But she's a great storyteller. Maybe that's where I get my wanna-be writer bug from. Dad said today, "Prepare yourself before you mom starts with her stories.  Get your bathroom break, fix yourself a drink, and settle in."  But what does he know?  While my Mom gave me tales of kings and dragons and magic, Dad had one and only one story to tell me (from ages 1 to 4):

Dad: There was a mouse who lived in a house. One day he ran outside the house and up the tree. He sat there for a while and then he decided to run back into the house.
Me: Then what?
Dad: Then he was hungry so he ran outside...
Me: Up the tree?
Dad: Yes, up the tree. How did you know?  The tree had shade and lots of leaves and there was a cat inside the house.  But when the cat was sleeping...
Me: Back in the house?
Dad: Oh yeah. So the mouse runs back in...

It's funny and a little embarrassing for me, cause at their age, Dad still reminisced about how attractive mom was when they were dating while Mom laughed and turned beet red like a Tickle Me Elmo. What can I say when Dad went,

"All my friends thought Mom was hot.  I remember the day I met her, and my buddies whipped their heads around and said, 'damm, she's fine!'  And your mother, she was so coy when we dated. What a flirt. On our first date, we walked across a puddle, so I decided to go for it and grabbed her arm, and she squealed and shrank away from me!  Like she didn't want me at the time! All I wanted was to keep her dry, of course. But you know she wanted me..."

Snicker. Laughter and hilarity ensued and Mom called Dad something the equivalent of "Old coot! Go rinse the plates for me!"  Dad retorted as usual, "I'm not going to take abuse from you any more!"

And of course they're religious zealots.  I grew up with Bible-thumpers. They prayed aloud for me, asking the Lord to keep me in check and that I would recognize all my sins and be forgiven. Of course, they also added a little request for me to be more responsible and (hint hint) that I would learn to get a job before gallivanting around for another year.

They thought that everything, from Mom's car accidents to Dad's health, was traceable back to God's will. In the case of her accident, it was a 'lesson from the Big Guy because they skipped out on Sunday service one time to go to the movies." Good grief.

"Do you pray before every meal?" they asked. "Your brother doesn't do that anymore. We're afraid he's lost the Way. Have you strayed from the straight but narrow path? Hmmm? Have you?" 

I still remember memorizing whole passages of the Bible when I was five. Not to mention the Bible jeopardy contests. And weekly Bible study with adults. And Bible camp. And nightly family prayer time. I am glad that they never got into the whole speaking in tongues. I have a hard time understanding them already.

Silver lining though: their extreme views have nurtured theological and epistemological debates as far back as I can remember.   Then again, those debates often ended with mom's opinions on the right crispiness for egg rolls or Dad's lack of taste in furniture. "Old coot! Who would want to sit on that!"

I've made some headway with Dad on this trip. You would think that they can trust my views as those of a grown person, but it's taken them a long time... and maybe even not yet, to get here. Mom still lug out photos of me as a fat kid with my bow and cape (er.. towel tucked into my collar) -- and I think she still thinks that I behave and think like that.

Anyway, I'm sure everyone has similar feelings of displacement when visiting home for the holidays.  Ink and Sanguine has some stuff I can relate too, especially about how conservative Asian parents are... I mean, how can I not be somewhat fucked up when I have to deal with guilt from God, Asian culture, first generation immigrant issues, a particularly successful older sibling and loony parents?

Oy vey.  27 years of this stuff. And guess what? Hilarity and laughter ensues.

haha

happy new year

Posted by: Kyle | January 02, 2007 at 05:30 AM

are you in houston?

call me, let's hang out!

Posted by: moon | January 03, 2007 at 06:52 AM

hey, thanks for the shout out! hehe. very funny post. a lot more eloquent than mine. well, i guess i never had to deal with the religiousness of my parents, but being religious and being conservative is kind of the same thing isn't it. at least, from what you wrote, it does seem like your parents have a good relationship and still like each other after all these years... which is probably where the hilarity and laughter comes from. :)

Posted by: sanguine smile | January 03, 2007 at 08:11 PM