Yes, I have a list of things that merit Thanksgiving. But rather than the commonplace “family and friends,” I’ve dug deep into my psyche to bring out these gems formed under the pressure of my heavy soul.
Caillou’s static age
It brings me some relief from his annoying cartoon that Caillou announces he is just four in the intro to his mind-numbing show. When my son was three, Caillou was an older kid, and it’s always cool to hang around the older kids. Fortunately, Caillou is a Dorian Gray. Now that my son is five and Caillou is still four, I’m hoping he’ll realize what a drag it is to associate with such a whiny baby. I hope this happens before the pent up rage that has been building in Caillou’s repressed family explodes into violence.
I like broccoli. But that’s no reason to put it on this list. I’m thankful for broccoli because my children don’t hate it. It’s the only vegetable they willingly eat, these children who balk at corn. We eat broccoli almost every day. It doesn’t have that horrible husk that confuses their little mouths like corn and peas do. And carrots are orange. The God of little boys didn’t intend food to be orange (popsicles excepted).
I grew up where pizza joints were run by ethnic Italians. I remember an old Mom or Pop needing one of their kids to translate orders to them. Their pizza was their pride. I now live in a region where pizza places are owned by franchisees with names like Gary and Todd. The pizza is baked on a conveyor belt. The locals may be shocked by this, but I like some frozen pizza better than a lot of the pizza I could order. Plus, I don’t have to talk on the phone to get a frozen pizza, and that’s a huge advantage.
I once read about a study (no doubt conducted by male sociologists) concluding that when a group of women get together, chances are good they’ll start complaining about their men. I’m no scientist, but I have noticed that my wife loves me more when she comes home from a womenfolk powwow. She gives me a big hug and kiss and thanks me for not being like So-and-So’s husband. Whenever I’m feeling a little deprived, I inquire if she’s got a meeting coming up. Husbands lamer than me are the best part of my personality.
We rarely use public transportation. When we do, it’s like a Holiday. My boys love riding the bus. After a trip around town on an articulated bus, you’d think we just got back from Disney World. This great adventure costs about two bucks. When one of my sons is the Super Bowl MVP and somebody shoves a microphone in his face to ask, “You’ve just won the Super Bowl; what are going to do next?” he’ll say, “I’m going across town, on the twister bus.”
Yeah, I’m thankful for family and friends too. I guess.
I assume broccoli is on the menu today.
It’s actually one of the few days of the year when we don’t fit in some broccoli. How’s that for irony?
Amen to Caillou’s static age. I sometimes wonder if Caillou’s creator is bothered by being the most hated person by all the world’s parents. Happy Thanksgiving!
If this is truly the way French Canadians raise children, I would encourage English Canada to let Quebec go once and for all.
I’m thankful for this blog and the laughs it brings me. Happy Thanksgiving!
That’s so sweet, Sandy. I’m also thankful for loyal readers like you.
You should start hanging out with so-and-so’s husband to give your wife a consistent comparison that will always keep your armor shining. 🙂
I think I like him better from afar.