My Dinner with Jacob Action Figures, Act III

3 11 2006

I know I’ve said this before, but Jacob makes the ideal audience. If I ever lost the last shred of my sanity and stood up at an open mic in a comedy club, I’d make sure Jacob was in the room. It’s one of the good gifts brain injury has given him. (There are good gifts in everything. I’m convinced of it.) He doesn’t carry a lot of baggage–like anxiety about the future, or over-due bills, or a never-ending to-do list, or the typical insecurities common to those of us who live in a constant state of wondering what other people think. For Jacob, delight lurks beneath the surface every moment, ready to bubble up into laughter at the slightest provocation. This trait brings out the inane in me like nothing else can.

I promise I’m capable of intelligent dinner conversation–and we have them all the time. But I don’t transcribe those here, because I’m not selling my journal as a sleep aid. You kinda have to be there to benefit from deep delvings into theology, philosophy, science, and the like. For me, however, all it takes is one glance at Jacob, and seriousness tends to get shoved aside.

Case in point. Last night’s dinner discussion:

George: I read an article today about ways the Bible is used as literature in public schools.
Me: Yeah?
George: One way is to take a common idiom that shows up in a story–like “He washed his hands of the situation”–and ask students where the idea originated. They trace it back to Pilate.
Jacob: Pontius Pilate
George: That’s right, Jacob. Pontius Pilate.
Me: Good old Ponch-ous. (I catch Jacob’s eye. He looks away, but the corner of his mouth twitches slightly.)
George: Isn’t it Pon-ti-us?
Me: Well, yeah. That’s how you spell it. But it sounds more like Ponch-ous. (I look at Jacob again.) PONCH-ous.
Jacob refuses to look at me but makes the characteristic high-pitched, humming sound that signals an impending laugh.
Me: Hey, PONCH-ous, nice PAUNCH ya got there. Maybe you should try some Pilates.
As usual, I laugh at my own pun.
Jacob almost spews his water across the table.
George has given up the topic and resumed eating.
Me (whispering now): Paunch-ous Pi-lah-tees.
Jacob tries to pretend he doesn’t hear, but–as I’m sure I’ve mentioned before–he has supersonic hearing. Another brain injury anomaly. He suppresses a laugh and takes a bite of food.
Me (whispering even softer): Paunch-ous Pi-lah-tees.
Jacob’s cheeks bulge like a chipmunk around his grin and a laugh erupts.

We continued eating with the occasional whispered Paunchous Pilates interjected at random moments, always evoking the desired reaction. Meanwhile, George never did finish his story about the article. Why can’t that man stay on topic?


Actions

Information

9 responses

3 11 2006
Anonymous

So that’s some dinner conversation.
Ever watch Scrubs?
Heather at L’Chaim

3 11 2006
Anonymous

I swear I posted a comment, but it’s not showing up. But I posted it and mentioned Scrubs, then went back (um, a little late) to look at your reply to my other post and realized I mentioned Scrubs in that comment. So, apparently, your family reminds me of Scrubs.

5 11 2006
notjusta

Haha! I need a laugh. Thanks.

5 11 2006
Anonymous

Hi Jeanne! You’re so right about there being “good gifts in everything.” The last ten years of my father’s life were the best between us. Why? He had a stroke. Somehow, the catastrophic upheaval inside him loosened years of buried emotions. We talked and laughed and cried like never before. I was blessed to have a real father — post-stroke — for those years. Your dinner table sounds like a fun place. Grace to you!

mike duran

5 11 2006
jeannedamoff

Actually, Heather, I’ve never seen Scrubs. And I don’t watch any of the current TV series. I suppose living in a sitcom satisfies my need for absurdity? We are, however, big Seinfeld fans around here and enjoy the freedom to watch it on DVD whenever the mood strikes.

As for my family reminding you of Scrubs, I will simply assume that’s a good thing and go on my merrily oblivious way. 🙂

5 11 2006
jeannedamoff

You’re welcome. Thanks for laughing.

How’s vet school?

5 11 2006
jeannedamoff

That’s very cool, Mike. Thanks for sharing about your father.

Grace to you, too.
J.

6 11 2006
jaezesse

Waiting for Laughman

Oh, you. You can always get a reservation. And a laugh out of ol’ Jacobo.

6 11 2006
jeannedamoff

Re: Waiting for Laughman

I just make a call.

You know, you’re every bit as gifted (if that’s the right word) at pushing Jacobo’s buttons. I suppose the real question is, how are you at reservations?

Your comments are a gift. Please know I read each one with gratitude.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s




%d bloggers like this: