MB and I were out at my parents’ on Sunday, checking on Piper, giving them an in-person update about their son-in-law’s surgery and progress. We’d just gotten home from my sister’s a few hours earlier and MB kept insisting, “You need to sleep. You need to sleep,” but it wasn’t gonna happen. I knew it. I was entering that weird energy phase that happens when you’re beyond exhaustion and morphing into a manic freak. I make dubious decisions in this state of mind. Oh, for instance, “Let’s go out to my parents’!” MB just rolled his eyes and shook his head and drove the car. Piper was ecstatic to see us and basically threw her uncle into the pool with her which meant I could talk privately with mom and dad. I walked them through everything with their son-in-law and they were impassive, which is how they typically respond to anything emotional. It’s frustrating. There are key areas — key areas — where I am not like them in any way, shape, or form, where there is a complete disconnect between us.
So when the conversation got too intense, Dad quickly changed the subject to his Netflix queue and the movies they’ve seen.
Uhm, okay. Let’s talk about that. This will be almost as frustrating as trying to talk to you about your son-in-law’s cancer, but, okay, let’s talk about your movies.
Mom began.
“I don’t understand why some of these movies are considered classics. I hate them.”
“Really? Well, okay. It’s personal taste, that’s for sure.”
“Well, like Breakfast at Tiffany’s. What a bore. There was no plot.”
“Mm-hmm.”
Dad joined in.
“And I didn’t like Audrey Hepburn in that.”
“Okay.”
Mom again.
“Yeah. She was totally vapid. All she did was smoke and have parties.”
(Translation: Her fictional character is clearly going to hell.)
“Hmm,” I said, deciding making noncommittal noises would be best in this situation.
They switched movies. Dad spoke.
“Then we watched Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.”
Oooh. Screenplay by my boyfriend William Goldman.
“Another movie with NO PLOT,” my mom said in disgust.
Ohh, no. Don’t say it. Don’t do it. Do NOT say, “Uh, William Goldman won an Academy Award for that script.” Just don’t say it, okay, dummy?
I didn’t, but it was killing me. Killing me.
“I didn’t like Robert Redford,” one of them said.
“I thought that song was stupid,” the other one said.
“I did like Paul Newman,” one of them said.
“But I didn’t like the ending,” the other one said.
“We just got Blazing Saddles in the mail. Do you think we’ll like that?” Dad asked.
I looked at them both.
“No,” I said and changed the subject back to cancer.
Because it was actually less annoying.
Curse you and your ease, Netflix!
“Blazing Saddles” has songs in it, too, so–good call.
Sorry about the annoyance factor. Right now I’m having a circular conversation with my mom about certain relatives who contact her only if they want something and ignore her otherwise. . . but it’s O.K. because they have kids.
Kate P — It’s hard to find areas of commonality with my parents. Sometimes I throw out a topic because I know it’s a hot-button issue for them and I know exactly what they’re going to say and say and say. So I just wind them up and watch. It’s bad. But it prevents dead air.
MB always busts me about it in the car. “You just brought that up to get them going.”
“Yep. It worked, didn’t it?”
I mean, on certain topics, I don’t need to say anything; they’re just off and running.
I’m horrible.
Oh dear… Blazing Saddles, you say?
Taxi? Drive me off this picture.
Ohhhh yeah. “Button-pushers” is my similar term for it.
BTW the topic I mentioned totally came up during the lunch intended to celebrate my new job. “They never called or answered my zillion e-mails; do you think we’re still supposed to pick up the kids? I guess I should call them. . .” OH PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD CALL THEM WHEN YOU’RE IN THE CAR AND AWAY FROM ME.
/middle child episode. (Sorry, that felt good.)
“I thought that song was stupid,†the other one said
WOW!!! I’m completely baffled. I’m pretty sure that “Rain Drops Keep Falling on My Head” was even covered by Lawerence Welks band in the early 70s. That has got to be the most innocuous number one song in the last 50 years next to “You Light Up My Life”.
This is hilarious.
Funny and also familiar! I have trouble figuring out any safe topics when visiting with my parents. My father is fairly easy to talk to on his own, but my mom is tricky and when it’s both of them then he often follows my poorly chosen topic with a poorly chosen response and then it’s all over.
Topics that go poorly: Movies. My own personal life. Any of our relatives. Anyone famous. My dad’s job. Their house. Music. Politics. Religion. Family history. World history. Current events. Medical issues. Travel. Friends (theirs or mine). Anything or anyone new.
The safe topics seem to be:
Gardening. What to eat. The dogs. Hercule Poirot.
I don’t like “Raindrops” either, and while that scene has some charm (I mean, Paul Newman goofing around on a bike?? Heaven!) it’s not my favorite one in that film. It’s so funny – having just read that Goldman book, Tracey – to see Butch Cassidy come up! I loved reading the screenplay that he included in the book – fascinating to see “how it’s done”, right??
Marisa — /The safe topics seem to be:
Gardening. What to eat. The dogs. Hercule Poirot./
Hahahahahahahaha!! Can I borrow your topics?
sheila — Oh, please. I want to marry William Goldman. He’s available, I hear.
He’s so awesome!!