Don’t be Obstreperous

Being clever, or quick-witted, can be curse or a gift. There is power in words and no one knows this better than a comedian. For them, saying just the right thing with just the right timing is a gift.

Back in the day, George Carlin was a master at this. His monologues were thought-provoking and he often challenged us to pay attention to what we were saying. One skit that sticks out in my mind is Words We Use. He focuses on oxymorons; two words linked together that have opposite meanings. 

Pushing the hair out of his eyes, and scratching his chin through his ragged beard he says two words: jumbo shrimp. He pauses, and lifting his eyebrows scans the room to see the audience reaction. This seems to humor him more than his punchline. He goes on to mention a few other at-odds combinations, then ends his skit with plastic glass. Hilarious!

Present day, Jim Gaffigan has the same type of humor. His Christmas skit really makes me wonder about our customs. In his shrill voice, he talks about cutting down a tree from the outdoors and bringing it inside the house, while at the same time, we take lights from inside the house and put them outdoors. My laughter is interrupted with thoughts of “hunh, that does sound silly.”

In the first few minutes of the Carol Burnett show, she fields questions from a live audience. Unscripted, this is often the funniest part of the show. One night, a guest star was with her during one of these segments and said, “I wish I could be that funny. Carol just hears things a little off.” And as she says that, she turns an imaginary dial.

The way Carol responds to her audience is a testament to her brilliant mind. There are no lags or pauses, she thinks funny, therefore she speaks funny. She makes no translation in her mind, comedy is her first language. It is her gift.

While in no way I would compare myself to Carol Burnett (although she does have a great first name), I think funny. Call it a gift! This has gotten me in to, and out of, more trouble than I would like to admit! 

One example happened over thirty years ago. My ex-husband was in the National Guard and had to report to the Air Force Base at all hours of the day and night. One Sunday, his superior called and woke me up at just past five o’clock in the morning. He said he could not see my husband and wondered if I knew where he was. I told him he was at the Base. His superior repeated that he was not there. Unsure how I could help him, I answered, “He’s wearing his camouflage. He is there, you just can’t see him.” That was the last time I received a phone call from his superior.

This quick-wittedness comes with practice, lots of it. When I was younger, I couldn’t help myself, if I found something funny I had to say so, almost like it was my job. My parents were not thrilled, seeing this a curse. As a result, I was probably the one child who communicated the most with my father, albeit one-way.

“Don’t be such a wise guy,” and “Don’t be obstreperous,” were Dad’s two favorite lines. Hey! We were talking. It got to be that when Dad heard my voice he responded with either of those lines. Most of the time he had a reason, but not always. It just got to the point where it was a reflex, like getting hit on the kneecap with a rubber hammer. Bang, kick…bang, kick.

Dad and I shared something else unique to us, a bond of faith. All of us siblings are professed in our faith, but Dad and I shared something just a step above. He could talk to me about those things and know I would understand. One day, as we passed a portrait of the Holy Family, he stopped and pointed at it, “That’s what I want on my card.” Speechless, I nodded. Words weren’t needed to know he meant the card at his wake. His favorite passage was 1Corinthians 13:1-8, God is Love. I put that on the back of the card. One day at church, when I noticed him wholeheartedly singing a song without looking at the hymnal, I wrote the title on the bulletin and saved it. That would go in the file. 

In early November, 2019, after receiving communion, I returned to my pew in St. George’s Church. Perched upright on the hard pad of the kneeler, I watched each person as they walked by. Usually, I spend this time in prayer, but I knew almost all of the people, and I was in the front row. This was Dad’s funeral.  

Taking our seats, the church grew silent as the vocalist sang a chilling rendition of Be Thou My Vision, the song Dad sang all those years ago. It was then that I searched for my father. Begging the Holy Spirit for some type of communication, I heard three familiar words, “Don’t be obstreperous.”

Really? That’s what I get? You have got to be kidding! But then it dawned on me that Dad was speaking only to me. He knew I would recognize him in those words. He was speaking our language and I was listening. 

Then, with just the right timing, like a comedian with a punchline, he said three more words, “Keep in touch.”