At the ungodly hour of 8:10 AM, my sister and I started toward my niece’s school awards ceremony where an array of tall Gentiles blocked our view and acted fresh as daisies while we came pre-wilted from the morning sun. Some of the awards were given to dozens upon dozens of kids, which, one would think, would diminish their import, but that relativistic result was not in evidence, so the giving went on while I struggled to remain erect in my seat (yes, I know there are medications for that).
Boy, do I hate it when presenters follow a long list of names with “and” whoever, then, rather than properly retreating, say “and” again, plus more names.
But hey, guess what — a bunch of the kids got letters of encouragement from the president for top academic achievement, while others received presidential letters praising failed attempts. That’s playin’ both sides of the aisle for ya, yesiree. And as the same group of kids were getting pretty much all the awards, I was particularly impressed by those who got both the “high achiever” and “not good enough” honors from our nation’s first Hawaiian commander-in-chief.
Apropos of that, it seemed like, but for those repeat recipients, the “idiot scrolls” were going only to students with names like Goomer Numph and Duncey Haven, while the better recognition went to the more soap operaishly-named kids. Yet despite a name fit for a countess, my niece got the “not really” award. And I was duly proud.
She’d told me the other day that she didn’t like Obama (omitting his title as a sign of disrespect) because he “hates Jews.” And sure enough, her letter of insufficiency from his office started, “Dear Hated Jewess.”
Immediately, I felt guilty for having argued the point earlier, as there it was, in black and white, with a cc to Netanyahu, who’s related to my other sister’s husband, the one who’s also related to an unknown singer of Disney tunes.
Ooh, and I didn’t tell you, but — because I’m a silly billy — I signed in as “Marv Noodleman” and, toward the end of the ceremony, was astonished to hear that name called as the recipient of an award. An award that was — in fact — for yours truly, not for one of the childs.
The universe must have recognized that I had been insufficiently rewarded in my own childhood and conspired to redress this dimensional imbalance while it had the chance.
I was escorted up the aisle by the tallest and most alert of the gentile mothers, who threw blood upon her own head as we ascended the rostrum, then kissed me with deep, lingual publicness.
I nearly fell to the kitchen tile-covered gymnasium floor.
After which, me and my sister got coffee.
At a place.