I love listening to a good comedian. By good comedian, I mean a person with the ability to make me laugh out loud when I am sitting by myself. It also means someone who can tell a funny story without embarrassing me so much with language that I miss the joke. Why some comedians feel that they aren’t funny unless they use the worst language imaginable is beyond me. I like a comedian that I wouldn’t mind listening to with my kids. But, I digress. I said all that to say that Bill Cosby is number 2 on my great comedian list. (Tim Conway is #1 by a mile, should you care. If you don’t know who Tim Conway is, I am sorry for you!)
Bill Cosby once said, “these grandparents that grandchildren adore so much – what with the candy dishes, emptying out their coin purses, and overall providing unconditional love are not the same people we, parents grew up with. Our parents were disciplinarians, strongly opinionated parents. Now they are just old people trying to get into heaven.”
I have thought this about my parents for the past 23 years. That was when their first grandchild (Emily) was born and their personalities were sucked away by aliens and replaced with new personalities…personalities that I did not recognize. Never does this hit closer to home than during an Alabama football game. My entire family are huge Bama fans. My daddy is the type of fan that has been known, if Gary and Vern (THE most horrible sports announcers in the history of sports announcers) are announcing the game, to turn down the sound on the TV, turn up the radio and listen to…(key the trumpets)…Eli Gold call the game. Granted, it’s a magical feeling to hear Eli Gold get excited over a great run and touchdown and hear him yell…”score one for the good guys!”
When my siblings and I were growing up, we were not allowed to make noise during an Alabama football game. If we made too much noise, we were sent outside to play. I remember spending many Saturday afternoons out in the yard because I always have (and always will) have a problem with being quiet.
But, now there are grandchildren. These people could bring a New Orleans jazz band through the middle of the living room, complete with confetti and gymnasts during the Alabama/Auburn game, and my daddy would sit and smile and never say a word. Who is this man? What happened to the person that raised me?
Granted, being the firstborn of their children I felt that it was my job to train my parents correctly. I must have done a fantastic job, because they are numb to the things their grandchildren do. Noisy? Who cares? Needy? That’s what they are there for. No one gets sent out into the yard any more. No one is told to pipe down during the game. It’s chaos. Pure and simple.
And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
This is my parents and me. Back before they lost their minds the first time and had other children.