Christmas Comedy
I recently was describing to a friend about the time spent together with my mother’s side of the family, the Floras. While it is like I'll describe below most of the time, Christmas Day seems to be a hyped-up version of the normal get-together: the pinnacle of our craziness, if you will. I decided to write up what I said (in so many words), since I had my friend practically rolling on the floor laughing. Don’t worry if you don’t have the same reaction. I think something might be lost in the translation.
Back in the day, my mom would accuse us of “not listening” to her when she gave us a chore. We used to tease my Pap for thinking that turn signals in cars “don’t make any noise like they used to.” In fact, countless references to a lack of listening or hearing have been made over the years. But now that I’m older and wiser, I don’t think that defiance or old age was ever the problem—I think it’s simply because everyone in my family is deaf. Young and old alike have not been spared. Not completely deaf, mind you. And not even hard of hearing enough to get some sort of aid to stick behind our ears. But I guess years of rock music, or Rush Limbaugh, or hymns, or WHATEVER people listen to, was enough to seriously impair our quality of hearing collectively as a family. During my trips home, I spend more time repeating myself than an auctioneer with an obsessive compulsive disorder. I’ve found that if I want to save myself from the damnation of repetition, I should simply shout out my comments or questions the first time around.
Something else you need to know about my family—everyone’s a comedian. Maybe not all of them in their everyday lives as nurses, retired cops, and school teachers. But when the group is assembled, their everyday identities are tossed aside and super-hero comedian identities are brandished. Everyone’s got a smart guy comment to share—even my Grandma. So what happens when you get a roomful of deaf comedians together? Throw in some festive red stuff (my family’s signature drink of Hawaiian Punch and ginger ale—we are SO creative), presents, and a video camera for good measure….I think you’re beginning to see the picture I’m painting.
Every comedian wants their joke to be heard. During present opening time with my family, not only are you battling the hard of hearing, but also the competing jokes being thrown out simultaneously. There’s no time to run the joke over in your head to make sure it sounds good, or even to say it quietly (aka regular speaking voice) hoping those around you will hear it and laugh. Split-second timing is crucial. The flow moves quickly and if you wait, they’ll have moved from politics to kitchen utensils before you can say “Monica Lewinski.” If you try to say it quietly, everyone else’s joke will drown yours out like a man overboard. If you truly want to be heard, you must throw caution to the wind, and yell out your joke as soon as it pops into your head. Good, bad, or ugly—you’ve got to yell it out while you still can. If it crashes and burns it can take forever (at least 20 minutes) to recover and try again. If it’s a success you’ll receive laughs and cheering (not to mention countless jokes piggy-backed off your own) that rival the return of David Letterman after one of his extended absences. If you’re really good, the joke will become a staple for years to come. Think you can make it in our family? Only the half-deaf, loud, and unashamed should apply.
*Several single family members now accepting applications.*
I recently was describing to a friend about the time spent together with my mother’s side of the family, the Floras. While it is like I'll describe below most of the time, Christmas Day seems to be a hyped-up version of the normal get-together: the pinnacle of our craziness, if you will. I decided to write up what I said (in so many words), since I had my friend practically rolling on the floor laughing. Don’t worry if you don’t have the same reaction. I think something might be lost in the translation.
Back in the day, my mom would accuse us of “not listening” to her when she gave us a chore. We used to tease my Pap for thinking that turn signals in cars “don’t make any noise like they used to.” In fact, countless references to a lack of listening or hearing have been made over the years. But now that I’m older and wiser, I don’t think that defiance or old age was ever the problem—I think it’s simply because everyone in my family is deaf. Young and old alike have not been spared. Not completely deaf, mind you. And not even hard of hearing enough to get some sort of aid to stick behind our ears. But I guess years of rock music, or Rush Limbaugh, or hymns, or WHATEVER people listen to, was enough to seriously impair our quality of hearing collectively as a family. During my trips home, I spend more time repeating myself than an auctioneer with an obsessive compulsive disorder. I’ve found that if I want to save myself from the damnation of repetition, I should simply shout out my comments or questions the first time around.
Something else you need to know about my family—everyone’s a comedian. Maybe not all of them in their everyday lives as nurses, retired cops, and school teachers. But when the group is assembled, their everyday identities are tossed aside and super-hero comedian identities are brandished. Everyone’s got a smart guy comment to share—even my Grandma. So what happens when you get a roomful of deaf comedians together? Throw in some festive red stuff (my family’s signature drink of Hawaiian Punch and ginger ale—we are SO creative), presents, and a video camera for good measure….I think you’re beginning to see the picture I’m painting.
Every comedian wants their joke to be heard. During present opening time with my family, not only are you battling the hard of hearing, but also the competing jokes being thrown out simultaneously. There’s no time to run the joke over in your head to make sure it sounds good, or even to say it quietly (aka regular speaking voice) hoping those around you will hear it and laugh. Split-second timing is crucial. The flow moves quickly and if you wait, they’ll have moved from politics to kitchen utensils before you can say “Monica Lewinski.” If you try to say it quietly, everyone else’s joke will drown yours out like a man overboard. If you truly want to be heard, you must throw caution to the wind, and yell out your joke as soon as it pops into your head. Good, bad, or ugly—you’ve got to yell it out while you still can. If it crashes and burns it can take forever (at least 20 minutes) to recover and try again. If it’s a success you’ll receive laughs and cheering (not to mention countless jokes piggy-backed off your own) that rival the return of David Letterman after one of his extended absences. If you’re really good, the joke will become a staple for years to come. Think you can make it in our family? Only the half-deaf, loud, and unashamed should apply.
*Several single family members now accepting applications.*
