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March 20, 2007
Leaps and (Out Of) Bounds
I’ve been busy all night writing out of list of things to bring with me to New Jersey this weekend. My brother’s getting married this Saturday, assuming he doesn’t get hit by a falling tree or anything between now and then. It sounds like hyperbole, but then again, a freakin’ tree did manage to fall atop his newly purchased Jeep this morning about 15 seconds after he parked the thing near his office. Freaky stuff. Just hasn’t been the month for McGee-owned vehicles, methinks.
Luckily he’s alright, so I can make light of the fact that clearly God is mad that he’s married someone who doesn’t think as highly of His son as we Catholics do, and as such, sought to smite my brother, the heathen, before such an affront to His offspring could reach legal sanction. I can also do this now because I have to get these kind of jokes out now before I’m four hours into the open bar at a predominately Jewish wedding spouting off crap like you just read in the previous sentence. My mind’s like a pressure valve, and my mouth’s the relief point, and if I keep this stuff bottled in too long, I might find myself getting a chair to the side of the face after my brother and his fiancée dance the hora. And that’s no fun. Been there, done that, spent the next week getting splinters removed.
Several people in my family have asked me if I’ve prepared my best man’s speech yet. And naturally, I have. Well, to an extent. I have my basic talking points, but by and large, I do much better with the written word than the oral one. Not a public speaker, am I. I’m a mumbler, and I know it, and I’m much better than I used to me, but quite honestly, I can’t even bring myself to listen to more than 5 seconds of my podcasts. Just can’t do it. Throw in “open bar” as we have a potential recipe for disaster on our hands. Oy, vey.
Mom wanted to know if I was going to bring up any anecdotes from our childhood in my speech. To which I answered, “No, I mean, there’s no real quintessential story that sums up our childhood, save one, and I don’t think it’s appropriate.” (Incidentally, I use words like “quintessential” in everyday discourse. I’m not showing off here; if anything, I’m pointing out what a geek I am. But there you have it. To wit: six weeks into my new job, I had to take a customer service class. At one point, my team had had five minutes to come up with positive aspects of the Starbucks franchise for its customers. I said, “Well, they are ubiquitous.” Guy to my left looks at me like I just called his mother a filthy whore who has sex with farm animals on the internet for a minimum amount of payment. Even once I explained what the word meant, he was skeptical of my off-the-cuff use of it. For the next four months, everytime he saw me, he managed to throw that word out at me, even if it was completely inappropriate. “Hey man, how about that weather today eh? Pretty…ubiquitous, wouldn’t you say?” But, as usual, I digress.
My mother asked me to tell her the story anyways, and since I’m not using it this Saturday, it couldn’t hurt to tell it now.
When I was about eight years old, maybe nine, I came down with a horrible case of the flu. This was not unusual, since I was a pretty sick child. Let’s just say my mom could drive to my pediatrician blindfolded by the time I was four. Good times were had by all. So I’m lying in bed, watching some TV, so cold that I’m completely under the blankets save for everything above my mouth. If you peeked in, I looked like a sniffly floating head.
I’m lying there, and then I hear something.
Thump thump thump…
Footsteps coming up the stairs. But not Mom’s footsteps, promising soup and crackers. These were quicker footsteps. Lighter footsteps.
Thump thump thump…
Getting closer and louder now.
Thump thump thump…
I know who these footsteps belong to: my brother, three and a half years younger, bounding up the stairs with a speed and purpose usually reserved for going DOWN the stairs on Christmas morning. I myself take little to no interest in this sound, being otherwise occupied with that week’s episode of “Reading Rainbow”. I figure he’s off to his room to conduct court with his stuffed animals. (True story: he was judge, jury, and most often, executioner of his stuffed animal collection. His Glow-Worm was definitely the troublemaker of the group, let me tell you. He was TuPac before TuPac was TuPac.) But on this day, he wasn’t going to his room.
On this day, my brother had other plans.
On this day, he bounded into the room in which I lay with a 101 degree temperature.
On this day, he lept with a skill and grace that would make those in Cirque du Soleil cry with envy.
On this day, his leap took him directly to his destination: atop my chest.
On this day, once comfortably sitting on my chest, did my brother let out a terrific fart.
On this day, having accomplished his mission, did he instantly run away, cackling with glee.
On this day, did Ryan cry out, cursing his brother's existence, cursing the chest cold that rendered his cries for justice to falter on their way to his mother's ear.
***
Having told this to my mother, there was a pause, and then she said, “Yea, best to not bring that up at the wedding.
Two days later, she calls up my brother. They are talking, shooting the breeze, and she asks him what he thinks I’ll say in my speech.
He goes, “Man, I dunno. Only thing I can think of, is, like, this one time, he was really sick in bed, so I ran up the stairs…”
Posted by Ryan McGee at March 20, 2007 08:24 PM
Comments
Are you going to make me cry this weekend?? These cousin weddings are killing me! :)
Posted by: Kelly at March 21, 2007 03:13 PM