The Best Christmas Gift Ever

This story will not be about a mentally retarded youngster who gets his lines wrong in the school play. Nor will it be about a boy who spends all his money to buy a pair of red shoes (with other shoppers pitching in) so his mama can look pretty when she meets Jesus. It will be about me, and the serendipitously brilliant gift I gave my mom.

On a whim I decided to give my mom a David Sedaris book for Christmas. She has been pretty sick, and has just had some surgery to repair some of her vertebrae that have disintegrated, so I thought she might like something that would make her laugh, now that it's not physically painful to laugh anymore.

I asked Cicada which book she thought would be best. She suggested Me Talk Pretty One Day. Then she asked what made me think that my mother would enjoy a book by a person who is openly gay and uses profanity a lot. I wasn't sure, but decided to get the book anyway. Anyway, I wasn't concerned about the gay part--just the swearing, because that's offensive.

When the book arrived, I took the opportunity to read the first couple of chapters before sending it. Hilarious! Then I got busy and didn't read any more, but I was sure the whole thing was good. I mean, how bad could it be? All of my NPR experiences with David Sedaris have been profanity free and hysterically funny. I sent it.

Then I started to worry. After all, those NPR people censor, don't they? I hadn't read anything offensive in the book, but what if there was something really super offensive later on that I didn't know about, and my mom got mad at me or something?

I called her. No answer. I stewed about the possible outcomes of my gift.

Christmas Eve I called in a panic, hoping she hadn't opened anything yet, and thinking maybe I could tell her to just return it to me and I'd get her something else. No answer.

Christmas afternoon she called me. She said, "Thanks for the book."

I said, "Uh, you're welcome. I hope it's not offensive."

"Oh, no," she said, "it's hilarious."

"Well, that's probably because you've only read the first two chapters," I said.

"No, I'm more than halfway through. I can't stop reading it. Whatever possessed you to get me this book, anyway?"

"I thought you'd like it?"

"Yeah, it's hilarious. Have you read it?"

"No, just the first couple of chapters."

"How did you know it would get offensive?"

"Well, my friend Cicada recommended it, and she expressed concern."

"Well, it's hilarious. She told you there was offensive stuff in it?"

"Sort of."

"She's probably talking about that one story about his brother. Yeah, there was a lot of profanity in that story, but it was hilarious. And I didn't really mind it, but yeah, there sure was a lot of profanity."

"Oh."

I am almost let down by this. Not sure why. I guess the thought of my mother reading a bunch of profanity and laughing her head off is not something that's easy to get my head around.

She said, "I told my sister you got me a David Sedaris book. I asked her if she knew who he was. She said, 'Of course I know who he is. He's the funniest person on the face of the planet. He's also very gay. But Daltongirl got you a David Sedaris book? What in the world possessed her to do that? Daltongirl likes David Sedaris?' And I told her I didn't really know why you got me the book."

And then I shared the story of David Sedaris drawing a picture of Cicada throwing up in Big D's book. Only I didn't get it quite right, and it wasn't as funny as when Cicada told it. Oh well. If my mom ever read my blog, she could link to the story and read it in it's hilarious entirety. But she doesn't.

So now I guess I have gained new respect in the eyes of my mother and aunt. Not for my spirituality, parenting skills, educational accomplishments, or child advocacy activities, but for giving my mom a book by a very gay man who swears.

If only I had known. I've been going about this Quest for Parental Validation all wrong. I could have filled out a referral and sent my mom on a date with Cicada.