I had a chat with my mom on the phone tonight because, well, I’m Jewish and it’s obligatory that we talk to our mothers every day lest it be assumed that we are face down in a ditch. She was telling me about a conversation she had with my father over dinner about the acting class that she signed up for (if you’re not up to date, more on that here: My Mother, the Star).
Mind you, my father is the kind of person that gets his feather ruffled by any talk of change, so this acting class is already cause for his concern. To prevent any further disturbance, my mother has adapted a technique where she will gradually layer on new information to an old story as to not overwhelm his irritable senses. In tonight's update, she was to tell him that if the acting class goes well, it might give her the courage to consider auditioning for a show. He, in turn, responded with his usual blend of apprehension and ferocity.
He told her that he by no means a fan of that idea. He didn’t like to think of her being out and about, going who knows where with who knows who. She reminded him that this was merely a hypothetical situation they were discussing and she would have to see how the class went before she could consider auditioning for something. And, even then, that wouldn’t mean that she would automatically get cast just because she showed up to the audition.
His defense was as supportive as usual, stating, “Of course you’d get a part. They’re not going to be paying you. They’ll let anyone in that wants to give up their time.”
Years of variations on this theme had her respond with, “That’s not necessarily true. I’ll have to be good enough first. They’ll have to want me. Besides, what difference would it make if I had somewhere to be? Every single night we watch two separate TV’s in two separate rooms. It’s not like we would miss any time we spend together. Besides, you play golf a couple of times a week. I don't think this is any different.”
“Yes, it is,” he glowered. There are times when I am certain that Armageddon wouldn’t stop him from excreting the final word.
“You’re right,” she replied. “That is different because it’s you…” At this point, I imagine her pushing her food around her plate and not making eye contact with anything but her mashed potatoes.
To be fair, I have a million and a half things to say about this particular moment as well as the basis of their entire relationship. But this is another one of those moments where their shared dynamic upsets me and my reaction is still better left unsaid. It's simply not my battle.
So, instead of going through my usual laundry list of expletives about how shitty he was behaving, I told her, “You just can’t write this shit.”
Well, I lied.
And, oddly enough, I’m not the first person to write this shit either. I remembered while I was on the phone with her that their conversation was practically line-for-line from an episode of “All in the Family”.
The set up is pretty simple: Edith is late getting dinner on the table because she had been volunteering at a retirement home. Archie is furious and expects her to quit her volunteer efforts so that she can devote herself to house and home. As you might have guessed, this episode becomes a social commentary on the independent woman's role in the home. It was all very 1970's, which is why it frightens me all the more that this thematically still applies to my family's household.
I know I’m asking for a lot in expecting you to watch several minutes of a TV show that wasn’t even made in this century. Seriously though, this clip is up there as one of my favorite moments from any sitcom ever. And if you’re really that bored, you can start at 1:10 and still get my point.
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