Oy, Am I Irish!
My Irish family and I have a theory. We believe that the video camera ruined the art of the anecdote. And in the process, it ruined the best way for family members to get to know one another.
In my wild Irish family, I learned, by example, how to tell a story.
I saw my parents and my aunts and uncles weave concise, hilarious stories by doing spot-on impersonations, editing out the boring stuff, and exaggerating just enough to take the story up and over the top.
Some stories were so popular that we would request them of one another, as we might request a song in a piano bar! We would shout, "Tell the story about the empty-coffin funeral for the out-of-town relative whose body didn't arrive in time!" Or, "Tell the story about the guy who was so relaxed in church that he sat down for the sermon and lit up a cigarette!"
Nowdays, instead of facing one another and telling anecdotes, people sit around a TV or a computer screen. They drag out boring movies featuring stunning shots of people's backs, and weird, hollow audio on which one can only hear the camera operator, and no one else.
"How old are you today, birthday boy?" booms the video operator's voice.
Silence.
"Do you like that cake?" booms the director.
Silence.
Thrilling! I would rather watch my Uncle Dan's one-minute impression of the birthday boy than watch a half an hour of people's backs at a buffet.
And what are we doing with these videos, anyway, except sitting around a TV or computer screen? Why do we get together at all if not to look at one another and hear one another and love one another?
I recently became reacquainted with the art of storytelling when my husband became bedridden for a few years after a catastrophic illness.
When I dash out of the house to make my quick jumps to the grocery and drug stores, I keep my eyes open for stories I can act out for my husband.
When I get home, his first question is always, "What's going on in town? Did you see anything interesting?"
Here is one he loved.
Last year, about six months before a milestone birthday, I decided to whip myself into shape. I lost weight, exercised, got a snappy new hairstyle, new glasses, and some new clothes.
What I was most vain about, however, was some cosmetic dental work I'd had done. I couldn't stop smiling.
I was feeling very good about myself after a long and rugged time. I thought I looked younger than my years.
My birthday finally arrived, and I made a quick trip to the store for some last-minute supplies for my party. I walked through the aisles, smiling at men, women, children, red peppers, Kleenex, Readers Digest. Anyone and everything. I wanted everyone to see my new dental work.
I smiled at one woman who looked at me as though I were completely out of my mind. The odd expression on her face snapped me back to reality.
I said, "Oh, gosh. I'm sorry. I had my teeth fixed after a few hard years of caregiving, and I guess I'm acting a little weird."
She slapped my back and said, "That's what's great about being old, isn't it? You can do anything you want!"
Oh, well.
Oh, but that's not the punchline. Oh, no. On my way out of the store, two little children looked up at me from the cart in which they sat and shrieked, "Hi, Grandma!"
And here is one about my husband, which I love.
I watched one too many "makeover" TV shows, and decided to give my simple khakis and plain cotton shirts a rest in favor of bright, bold colors. I felt certain that my husband would be excited by my efforts to refresh my look.
I went to my husband in a new, shimmering, teal-colored blouse.
"Well?" I said. "What do you think?"
He said, "Frankly, Rose, I've never liked that blouse."
May I suggest that you, too, keep your eyes open for the many opportunities life offers us to laugh? Laughing isn't always about TV shows and movies.
Nor does humor have to be mean, or make fun of anyone.
Pets, for example, can be hilarious. Kids can be fall-down funny. And situations that you thought would turn out a certain way - and don't - are the absolute best!
These are the little stories to tuck away for first dates, or those little tables for six strangers at weddings, or those parties where everyone goes around chanting, like Pod People, "I'm no good at small talk." (Like they would perk up if only someone wanted to discuss splitting the atom.)
These stories and observations are little pieces of yourself that you can share with those you love.
Let 'em watch those boring videos after you've gone, baby!
For now - give 'em the real thing!