Said miracle occurred during dinner at Elaine's house tonight. But first, let me back up a step (apologies to Uncle Bubba). After LL practice on Sunday (volunteer work = heaven points), I was at the Breakaway with Unkie and Auntie Ann. Although most of their conversation seemed to revolve around who owed whom $3 after a night at the "Let It Ride" table, I did learn, inter alia, that Auntie was sour because Linda had visited Fenway and returned with a Manny Ramirez shirt for her beloved. Why, auntie wondered aloud, wouldn't she get a Johnny Damon or Curt Shilling shirt, since Ramirez is such a flake? It's not immediately clear to me why Linda, a flyover person who now flies over all of us, would be versed in the Red Sox line-up, or know Johnny Damon from Johnny Bravo, but I digress.
"You know what Joe said about Shilling?" Auntie asked me. Knowing all of her questions are rhetorical, I merely tired to look fascinated. "Why would I want a shirt of that bible-toting, Bush-voting SOB."
"Oh dear," said I. Auntie just gave me a knowing nod.
"You should read the paper he wrote - I think he's a communist!"
"Well, the ivory tower will do that to you."
"I'll give it to you when I'm done reading it," Unkie chimed in. "Something about peda-something. What's that called, pedophilia?"
"Pedagogy?" I guessed hopefully.
"Right!"
- - -
Ok, fast forward to tonight. Having dinner with Timo and Elaine, which she cooked as a thank you for me doing her taxes (more heaven points). Eventually the subject turns to the Red Sox, who won today. Our favorite bloody-sock-wearing, curse-breaking, born-again Christian pitcher is on the TV, thanking his maker for making his wife. Elaine begins to ooze with Jesus-freak speak about him.
I am immediately gripped with the urge that I can only guess makes ether so sinister. I must stir it up and walk away. I will offer an innocent conflicting opinion of Mr. Schilling to my sainted mother and watch her head spin all the way around like in the Exorcist. Then I will pretend not to remember who had such an opinion. Then I will let it come to me, oh yeah, it was Young Joseph Dominic. It is welling up inside me, much like John Travolta's urge to strut at the end of Saturday Night Fever. This is the Val Halla of stir it up and walk away moments.
"You know what I heard about Schilling yesterday?" I ask.
"What?" says Elaine. But then a funny thing happened. She was looking at me expectantly, innocently. Suddenly I was looking into the eyes of Cindy Lou Who, the tiniest Who in Whoville. My heart grew thee sizes. How could I do that to Elaine? To J.D.? I could not.
"Nothing," I said, "never mind."
"What did you hear, tell me!" Now she thinks it's a funny story or a scandal.
"I heard he was sorry he had to pitch while the black smoke came from the conclave, I guess he's really into paying attention to that." (Yes, this was a 'lie,' but let's not get hung up on technicalities. Let's focus on the miracle: I let pass a double-platinum blinging chance to SIUAWA completely altruistically! Not to mention that this is completely against my genetic makeup!)
"Oh, I'm not surprised," she said, moving on, "do you know what Father Jim said about ... [whatever]." Changing the subject is an underappreciated art.
Please being filling out the paperwork on my behalf.
St. Patrick
PS. Tommy let's not "accidentally" leak this one to Our Sainted Mother, K?
Angry Grammarian said:
I should begin by making it quite clear that I have no objections to the
canonization of my cousin Patrick; indeed, I will subsequently refer to him as St. Patrick.
This appellation might be premature in a strictly theological -- or doctrinal -- sense, but certainly it is not unwarranted. I appreciate St. Patrick's concern not to tarnish my image and/or damage my relationship with my beloved, not to mention favorite, auntie. Having said that, I do feel compelled to clarify some details and flesh out some gaps in the narrative.
First and foremost -- and undoubtedly obvious to all of us -- is that had I been given an option (and in fairness to Linda, she did try to contact me and give me an option, but I was detained at the moment) I would have opted for a Varitek t-shirt.
Second, and of no importance, Linda also brought me back a sweet grey hooded sox sweatshirt, not unlike the ones that derek lowe (or even bill belichick) wore during the improbable march (GO SOX!) to the 2004 World Series Championship. All of which is to say: Look for me on tv in the leftfield bleachers in Camden Yards tomorrow night.
I'll be the guy in blue Manny Ramirez t-shirt and/or the grey Red Sox sweatshirt. I'm not sure what a flyover person is, or exactly what St. Patrick means, but I take offense to his suggestion: of course Linda knows the difference between Johnny Damon and Johnny Bravo -- what kind of man wouldn't force his wife to sit down and watch the Red Sox with him, memorize rosters and stats, etc?
To clarify my comments about Curt Schilling:
My exact words were, "Ehh, he's kind of a Bible-beater."
Which doesn't say anything at all about my relationship to religion. It merely suggests my belief that God, if such a being exists, does not care all that much about baseball, strikeouts, homeruns, etc.
The collusion between the evangelical Christian community and the ideological right in the U.S. is problematic, but it is not a connection I chose to make in my conversation with my mother.
Nor did I refer to Mr. Schilling as an 'SOB.'
Most inexplicable to me is my mother's sneaking suspicion that I might be a communist.
Inexplicable, because if she asked, I would indeed tell her, "Yes, I am a communist." That is, I believe in the abolition of private property and feel that our world would be far more just if the means of productions were in the hands of the workers -- the global proletariat.
Presumably her suspicion emerges from prior conversations with me in which I have been quite frank about my beliefs, though perhaps the fact that I am devoting my life to the study of Marxist theory was an additional clue. I bristle at St. Patrick's suggestion that the ivory tower has 'done this' to me, as I feel that I was predisposed to be a socialist before I ever set foot in the tower.
I sense a bit of hostility towards academia in general in this suggestion.
Let me just say that I am inclined to disregard the prevailing conservative wisdom that constructs the academy as a space of rampant liberalism and open hostility towards conservative positions. But that is another matter entirely.
In conclusion, I want to reiterate my thanks to St. Patrick for preserving my relationship with Auntie.
The literary-minded among us will no doubt agree that his lie is of the same degree and import as Marlow's lie to Kurtz's intended -- a lie that enables the civilizing mission of Western discourse to continue, however provisionally.
Because we all know that 'The horror!' would have been too much for either Kurtz's intended -- or Auntie Elaine -- to bear. On the other hand, we must be vigilant. Auntie's sudden disinterest and her willingness to change the subject strikes me as rather suspicious.
Serendipitously, I came across this quote almost immediately after reading the first epistle of St. Patrick: "Many a secret that cannot be pried out by curiosity can be drawn out by indifference." -Sydney J. Harris, journalist (1917-1986)
Goodbye, God Bless, and Go Sox!
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