Congratulations are in order as Syd is about to become a father for the fourth time. We are re-publishing a past Shorebilly’s Swill, aptly entitled Not Everyone Gets Me, on Birth and Raising Children, considering that Syd is otherwise engaged – in the delivery room. The staff of Shorebread wishes Syd, his lovely wife, and the rest of their family congratulations as they welcome into the world, their new little blessing. And we can’t wait to hear what Syd has to say about it next week! Now, let’s refresh our memories as to Syd’s ‘advice’ on the birth process, and how to most effectively burp an infant while at a party…
I went a little soft on you guys last week and I hope you didn’t mind. I mean that figuratively speaking of course. It wasn’t something that could have been remedied with a little blue pill. I just meant that every once in awhile my “human” side slips through. I hope you enjoyed the piece. It meant a lot to me.
Well, as promised, I’m jumping right back into a life of perpetual sarcasm and cynicism. So here is another installment of “Not Everyone Gets Me” (Part 1 & Part 2) This is a collection of stories regarding awkward times when I’ve realized that some people neither share, nor appreciate my sense of humor. As we’ve discussed previously, I unfortunately possess either an inability, or an unwillingness to pull in the reins on my sense of humor at times. This often renders me what some might call inappropriate for mixed company. The following are a few more examples of this ailment of mine.
This first story just took place within the past few weeks. Two very dear friends of mine have been awaiting the arrival of their second baby. The due date had come and gone and their anticipation and frustration was building. My wife and I had a baby about nine months ago, who arrived about five days late. Knowing that I, more than anyone would be understanding and sympathetic to their plight. My friend and father-to-be sought my advice. He fortunately DOES share my sense of humor, but the strangers who overheard our conversation…not so much. We were discussing ways to induce the labor naturally without the help of those in the medical field, or the use of chemicals. The conversation we had, overheard by others, went like this:
HIM: The due date has come and gone. We gotta figure out a way to get this baby out.
ME: Well, in our final week last year, my wife just started walking all of the nature trails in and around our neighborhood.
HIM: Did it work?
ME: Not really. She ended up walking more than David Carradine in Kung Fu and we were still five days late.
HIM: We’ve tried that. I got her running a 5K this weekend. Any other suggestions?
ME: Then you need to strap her down. Hold her nose really tight and blow real hard in her mouth.
HIM: Can’t. She won’t let me that close to her.
ME: Good point. And chloroform will probably affect the baby.
HIM: Any other suggestions? What did you guys do?
ME: Have her drink hot sauce right from the bottle while jumping on a trampoline.
HIM: Thought about that, but that’s how she got pregnant in the first place.
ME: Good point. You don’t want to end it the same way it started. It’s unnatural. Well good luck, Buddy. Keep me posted.
HIM: Will do.
And with that, the conversation ended and a new subject was discussed. Several people were close enough to hear this exchange, and by the time the Kung Fu reference was made, I’m pretty sure we had the full attention of them all. At no point during the conversation did he or I react, change our expressions, or hesitate in the slightest. Hence lending credence to our words and making people wonder if we were serious, and certainly question our sanity. I believe the consensus was that neither he nor I should be fathers.
As it turns out, my friends had a beautiful, healthy baby girl just a few days later. It’s still unclear which of my suggested methods they employed to dislodge her from her previous amniotic dwelling and lure her out to the world of air breathers. Incidentally, she was named after me. I can only assume that this gesture was out of gratitude for my sound parental advice during their time of need coupled with the fact that I’m such a stellar role model.
Another time when my humor was not exactly appreciated took place within the past year and involved my own beautiful baby girl. We were at a social gathering at someone’s home when she was about three months old. I don’t recall the occasion, but there were several friends, family members, and people who didn’t know me very well. Despite what I do for a living, in many ways I am socially inept. When put in situations where I’m expected to mingle and engage in trivial conversations, I find myself avoiding it at all costs. These are the moments when I seek out ways to entertain myself and sometimes require the use of props. I strolled idly about this house holding my cherubic little girl and introducing her to multiple people as if she cared or would retain who they were. I didn’t much care or retain who these people were, so I’m reasonably certain that her newborn mind wasn’t grasping it.
This is about the time that I noticed a ceiling fan hanging in the center of a crowded room. It was spinning at high speed and I slowly made my way toward it with my sweet baby clinging to my chest and shoulder. I could not resist the urge. I stood directly beneath the rapidly rotating cooling mechanism. I then held my daughter by her waist facing down toward the floor and slowly elevated her in the direction of the fan blades. This action immediately drew the attention of the crowd. As I inched her slowly closer and closer to the spinning fan paddles, I began to shout; “BURP CHARLIE! BURP!!!” True to form, I was greeted with a variety of mixed reactions. A handful of people laughed though they tried to hide it. Some just smiled and shook their heads—but most stared in stunned disbelief. (I get that a lot). I think one or two even thought that I was going to continue the upward path of the baby into the fan.
It seems I had grossly overestimated how many Willie Wonka fans there were in the room. Apparently not so many appreciated Charlie and the Chocolate Factory as much as I. And I am NOT referring to that creepy, psychotic, “let’s keep Johnny Depp employed”, C.G.I., Tim Burton mess that was crapped upon us a few years back. I, of course, mean the fun family classic starring Gene Wilder and that guy from Chico and The Man. I love that movie to this day and it elicits very fond memories of my childhood. I simply wanted to reenact a scene from a classic piece of cinematic genius with my daughter. Ah, what the hell, I thought it was funny and needless to say the baby was unharmed and smiled the entire time. SHE gets me!
Now before you all start sending me text messages and e-mails, let me just say that I am completely aware of the fact that the talented actor who played both Grandpa Joe and The Man was named Jack Albertson. It’s just that this is probably the one and only time I will ever get the opportunity to make a Chico and The Man reference. So just indulge me for a moment. For those of you who don’t remember, and I assume that’s most of you, this was an entertaining yet short-lived sitcom from the early to mid-seventies. I believe it aired just before C.P.O. Sharkey, but that’s irrelevant. This show drove one of its’ stars to tour a secretive chocolate factory and purchase a ticket on the doomed Poseidon, and the other star to commit suicide. Thankfully though, he left us behind a son—a living legacy who decades later, would pursue equally lofty acting roles such as that of Fred in the film adaptations of Scooby Doo. My deepest apologies to the Prinze family.
Ya see what I mean? Not everyone appreciates my sense of humor. Thanks for playing along.
Until next week,
Syd Nichols
