The Simpsons Come Alive

Some important things have happened since I stopped updating my page on a regular basis. The boys made it through an entire soccer season without me writing a single post on it. I’m told we elected a new president, a very tan one at that (I only get my news from Silvio Berlusconi). I have been meaning to write a proper post for some time, but my free time has been mostly consumed by music and recording. I am determined to finish my record–it’s been over a year long process now–in the near future. But now is a perfect opportunity to write about an important event in the boys’ life, so I figure I should get back on top of regular posts.
My grandpa died early this morning after being diagnosed with cancer earlier this year. He was in his mid eighties, so it was not necessarily a surprise that his health was deteriorating. I got to go visit him in September and had a really nice time with him so I had more or less said my goodbye. This will be the first death that the boys are aware of and it will be the first funeral they will go to. We are pretty fortunate that they knew this great-grandfather and still have another set of great-grandparents alive and well. And neither sets of grandparents are even sixty. I know that’s not necessarily common, so I think we’re pretty lucky.
I told the boys a couple days ago that Grandpa Tom was getting sicker and that he would probably die in the next few days. They didn’t really say much, though Eban said, “Now I will know what a funeral is like.” He can cross that one off his list, I guess. He’s been to plenty of weddings now. Maybe he’s ready for the other end. I sat them down once we got home from school and told them that he had died. “He’s dead?” Eban asked. Yes I said. “He died?” said Madee. Yes I said. They waited a moment. “Can we watch TV?” Eban asked. I would like to say this didn’t really piss me off or that I didn’t take it more personally than I should have, but that would be untrue. I told him that I realize that he’s six and that maybe he doesn’t know how rude that is, but now he knows. It’s incredibly rude. Do you have anything to say to me, I asked him. “Sorry,” he said. He waited a moment. “Dad, can we?”
When we talked about it the other day they were very focused on who would be more sad, my dad or myself. I said I didn’t know, probably my dad, since it’s his father who died. “He will be more sad?” they asked. Guys, it’s not a competition, I said. “Of course it’s not a competition,” Madee said, like I was completely nuts. “How could it be a competition?” Madee has taken to saying “Of course” in kind of an exasperated tone before repeating something else back. Which means, of course, that I must start sentences with “of course” and then go on to sound like an asshole. Kids are really good at absorbing obnoxious things that we ourselves do and then throw it right back in our face. It’s really quite demoralizing.
And then, like every important moment in life, the Simpsons appeared with an episode directly related to the topic at hand. It was one I had actually never seen before–a later episode–when Homer’s mom comes back again and dies. They have a little memorial for her and the boys asked me if that’s what the funeral will be like. Eban asked me before the show if I would live to be as old as Grandpa Tom or would I probably be older than that. I said I hoped to live that old, older if possible. My sons are in direct contrast to the kind of kid that I was, scared to death that my father was going to have a heart attack at any time. At this time my dad was in his late thirties and exercised on a very regular basis. I also had it in my head for a time that I was probably adopted and they weren’t telling me the truth. I think a real cursory examination of my dad’s face and mine would reveal to most people a strikingly similar nose of heroic proportions. As you’d imagine, my mom found this concern of mine endlessly funny.
The funeral will be next week and my very, very large extended family will come together for my grandpa. My grandma and grandpa had seven kids, over forty grand kids, and now probably well over twenty (thirty?) great grand kids. I honestly don’t know the names of some of my cousins. I have actually run into a few here in Portland before and not recognized them. I was at a play park near my house once when the boys were babies and a woman approached me and said, “I think I’m your cousin.” It’s a unique occurrence. I’m curious to see what the boys think of the funeral. There’s a rosary the night before (my family is Catholic, in case the large number of children didn’t tip you off) and I think the casket is open then. We won’t be there for that and I don’t think the casket will actually be open for the funeral. Still, I think it’s a weird thing to see it there and know that your loved one’s body is inside. Personally, I really don’t like it. I’m all for cremation. But, we’ll see what the boys think.