Sitting down next to my football-crazed sister.
Mom: “I’m going to sit here and ask you questions every two minutes. Or I’ll knit.”
Walks into room.
Dad: “I don’t care what anybody says, Paul. I still love you.”
Leaves room.
Regarding a commercial.
Mom: “They’re watching TV while eating Thanksgiving dinner?”
Liz: “Do you know who that is?”
Mom: “Some idiot watching TV while eating Thanksgiving dinner.”
Liz: “Peyton Manning.”
On birthdays.
Liz: “We need to figure out what to do for your birthday.”
Mom: “Oh, nothing special. It’s just another 70th birthday.”
Liz: “I knew you were going to say that.”
Offering me gloves from a box of gloves he purchased when they were on sale.
Me: “I already have gloves.”
Dad: “I want you to have two pairs so your hands don’t freeze.”
Me: “Why would- I don’t wear them at the same time.”
Dad: “But then if you’re out you could go home and get them.”
Me: “Why would that do anything?”
Dad: “Pfft. If you have to ask the question.”
Leaves room.
My mostly Irish father just took one of those DNA tests, discovering he’s about 1 percent Jewish and 1 percent Italian.
Dad: “I thought that 1 percent would be bad for my career as an Irish mafia don. The Italian would help. Don’t you dare put that in.”
Me: “It’s already in.”
Liz: “Oh great, he’s blogging about weird things he’s heard on Thanksgiving? What are you saying?”
Me: “Hold on, I’m writing that down too.”
Elizabeth’s question.
Liz: “Are there any sports you like?”
Me: “Baseball. And hockey, a bit. I enjoy watching it, but I don’t, like, care? Does that make any sense?”
Later.
Liz: “Is there any sport you enjoy watching?”
Mom: “Knitting.”
My Jewish mother on Hanukkah.
Mom: “Every night you have to call me and tell me what you got and how wonderful it was.”
Liz: “OK.”
Mom: “I would do that with Paul, but I only got him one gift.”
Me: “That’s going in (the blog post)!”
Mom: (pause, then to my sister) “Well, he never calls anyway.”
Finally, some random thoughts on football:
Liz: “God, Brett Favre Night. Gross.”
Mom: “Six points? That means they’re winning, not the Chicago Cubs.”
Me: “Or, as they call it in Europe, ‘gridiron.’”
Liz: “Get him! Come on, you stupid assholes.”
Mom: “That’s when I found out you had to knit with metal needles at a football game. It was so cold, (the plastic needles) kept getting stress fractures and I had little bits all over the place. Do you remember that, Joe? The Iowa game?”
Dad: “God yes.”
Liz: “Jay, today needs to be your big day, OK?” (To Cutler.)
Mom: “Well, they’re beating them up all over the place otherwise. They might as well trip them.”
Dad: (Gives me a look.)
Me: “On it.” (Types.)
Liz: “He looks like he’s going to cry. Somebody punch him in the face so he cries.” (Re: Brett Favre’s number retirement ceremony.)
Me: “It was the name of a corn magnate who funded the team.” (Re: Staleys, the Bears’ original name.)
Liz: “Son of a bitch.” (On a Packers’ passing play.)
Mom: “Damn it.” (On dropping a stitch in her knitting.)
Liz: “Shit!” (On a Packers’ rushing play.)
Mom: “Damn it.” (On dropping a stitch in her knitting.)
Liz: “Son. Of. A. Bitch.”
Mom: “Oh, you’re not even knitting.”
Happy Thanksgiving. Here’s to learning where you get it from. Love you all. Please let me come back for Christmas, Mom.
Please?
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And, just for fun, how Chicago produced a version of Nintendo’s “Duck Hunt” in the 1930s
