When We Visit Our Parents

When we visit your mother
She calls me 'Stavros'

'Stavros,' she says, 'My daughter should never have married you.'

I try not to be offended
Since after all, my name is not Stavros
And part of me thinks she's recalling something
From an old episode of General Hospital
She watched thirty years ago

But then she hits me with that wooden spoon she carries around with her
Despite the fact that I've never once seen her eat soup

'My daughter was going to be an Olympic swimmer,' she says

I start to remind her that you never learned to swim
But then you shake your head at me
With that look that says--

She's not all there.  Let her alone.

And yet you let her do our taxes
Can you explain that to me?

. . . . .

When we visit your father
He asks me when I'm going to have another kid

'Four girls and no boys?  It's like you're not even trying!'

I tell him that I'm done having kids
And even if I weren't done
I would have sixteen more daughters
Just to spite him

You panic at first
Until you realize I shouted it
Into his bad ear

So all he heard me say was something about the snow
And how nice his ears look

'You married a real kook,' he says to you, 'Do you know that?  She's a real Brazilian nut.'

I start to say something
But then you shoot me that look that says--

He's old.  Humor him.

Yet this is the man that we put in charge
Of renovating our bathroom last year

. . . . .

Your mother does not like the following things about me:

My haircut
My job
My driving

The way I chew my food
The way I laugh
The way I slice ham

My coffee
My complexion
My cat allergy

And the fact that I won't take off my wedding ring
When I'm over her house

'It's like you're rubbing it in my face,' she says, 'Right in an old woman's face!'

. . . . .

Your father does not like the following things about me:

My haircut
My job, or rather, the fact that I have one
My driving

The way I raise our children
The fact that I wear pants every once in awhile
The way I insist on voting in elections

My cooking, or rather, the fact that I don't
My computer, which he calls 'The Devil's Box'
My comedic sensibility, or as he calls it--

'You really married a smartass, you know that?  This Brazilian nut never met a knock knock joke she didn't love.'

. . . . .

The last time we visited your mother
You went out to the car
To put the leftovers in the trunk

That required three trips
Since she always sends us home
With enough food
To choke an ox

While you were out there, she pulled me aside and said--

'My daughter never should have married you...BUT I'm glad she did.  She is happy, and so I am happy.  You're a good man, Stavros.'

I give her a kiss on the cheek
And that's when she whispers in my ear

'Besides,' she says, 'She was a lousy swimmer.  Used to like a stone in the water.  But don't tell her that, it'll break her heart.'

. . . . .

The last time we visited your father
He sent you out to the garage
To change the oil in his car

I remember you saying--But Dad, you never drive anywhere!
And he said--Fine!  When I feel myself dying, I'll walk to the hospital!
So you went outside and changed the oil

While you were out there, he handed me a check
For a large amount of money

I told him we're doing just fine
But he said--

'Money's a dirty thing.  The only way you clean it up is to give it to people you love.'

I was very touched
And I tried not to cry
But I must have looked at least a little teary-eyed
Because he smiled and said--

'Finally you're not Miss Tough Girl for once!  Now if you'd just put on a pair of heels and adopt a boy who could carry on my name, I could finally introduce you to my friends!'

I reminded the old bastard
That he doesn't have any friends
But I promised that when we visit on Easter
I'll wear heels--just to give him a thrill

. . . . .

On the way back from your parents
We rehash what happened
And laugh with the kids

But I don't tell you about your mother's compliment
And I don't tell you about the check I'm going to put towards Kristy's college

We try to figure out
Whose house we're going to go to first
The next time there's a holiday

And then you look at me and say--

'Why don't we just have them both over to our house at the same time?'

There's a pause

And we laugh
And laugh
And laugh