We were at John's Dutch grandparents' house for Christmas when I overheard Nana ask John's grandpa, "Why don't the Jews have Christmas songs?" Nana went on for a minute about how she's never known anyone Jewish to sing at all. Poor Grandpa, so patient. After he looked at Nana with a very confused look on his face, I heard him ask her, "You've seen Fiddler on the Roof?" And... scene.
ARE YOU CATHOLIC? ARE YOU A REPUBLICAN? DO THEY PREACH END TIMES AT YOUR CHURCH?
Nana, who attended my wedding, IN A CATHOLIC CHURCH, asks me every time she's sees me if I'm Catholic. This year she asked me across the table, at a very nice dinner, in a very nice restaurant, followed by, "There's a Jehovah's Witness that comes over once a week. I don't let her in, but I open the door."
If there's anything I enjoy discussing more than religion, it's politics. Nana watches Fox and Friends with the glee usually reserved for *babies in a restaurant. Nana asked me about a hundred times if I'm a Republican or a Democrat and who do I want to win the Iowa Caucus.
*One night at dinner, again, at a very nice restaurant, Nana, who's as mobile as a concrete slab, makes this big, 5 minute production of getting up from the table, getting her walker, & going across the restaurant to see a baby. Did she know this baby? No. Did she know anyone else at the table with the baby? No. Did she finally make her way back to our table & spend the subsequent 10 minutes talking about this baby? Yes.
One morning, I came downstairs to get coffee & Nana's cousin was there visiting. As I was pouring my coffee & slinking back upstairs undetected, I heard Nana ask her cousin, "Do they preach End Times at your church?"
WHY DOESN'T THE NFL HAVE MORE NICE, WHITE PLAYERS INSTEAD OF ALL THOSE NEGROES?
God, I shuttered just having to type that.
GOOD MORNING. DAD WOKE ME UP BY DUMPING TWO GLASSES OF WATER ON MY HEAD AND NANA POOPED HER PANTS. MERRY CHRISTMAS.
As I think I mentioned in my previous post, we rolled into town around 2am on Christmas Day. We were awoken at 8am to 'get up & open your presents, man'. I left John upstairs & went down to get coffee. Sally was standing there with half wet, half dry hair. In defense of the water thrower, Sally & John are both absolutely & unequivocally nocturnal & impossible to wake up. So Sally informs me that Nana pooped her pants, stepped in it, tracked it all through the house, dad lost his mind, thus the water throwing, oh and "Merry Christmas."
Nana had an upset stomach the entire time she was there, but instead of saying 'upset stomach', she insisted on proclaiming everywhere we went that she had 'DIARRHEA!' I told Sally that I'd give her a quarter every time Nana said the word 'diarrhea'. We were up to $6 by the time we left.