It’s funny how the significance of holidays evolves as one grows older and wiser. For example, April Fools’ Day, observed just this past week, used to be one of my favorite traditions as a kid. How my brother and I loved switching the sugar with the salt on my dad and watched, consumed by giggles, at the sour but hilarious expressions rippling across his face.
How the kids and I laughed the morning we hid all of their dad’s shoes in the shower, hoping that he would not notice as he turned on the water, thereby giving all of his footwear a good soaking. Alas for us practical jokers, he did see them despite the morning grog, enabling him to perform a rescue and save himself a search later that morning as he got ready for work.
But this past week’s April 1 passed with nary a practical joke, save for Will’s last minute, rather feeble attempt to convince us that he wanted to transfer to a military academy for the rest of high school and deploy to parts unknown the moment he graduated. Too bad that his joke had zero credibility, knowing how happy he is this year and now, especially, that he is in the thick of his beloved lacrosse season and counting down to summer.
You see, the brutal reality is that too often, these jokes cut too close for comfort or humor, and even the best-intentioned jokes can have unexpected consequences. There are actually sons and daughters who go to military academies or sign up to serve, are sent to the front lines, and they never come home. Substituting salt for sugar in grandpa’s bowl would be bad either way, since he suffers from high blood pressure — hold the salt please — and diabetes — hold the sugar too.
Shoes of any kind have become too expensive, and the family budget cannot withstand any destruction for the sake of a good laugh. Besides, if we tried to hide dad’s shoes, and he had to search for them, he might miss the train for work in New York and he’s always cutting it a little too close anyway.
I am not saying that I’ve lost my sense of humor. These days, as always, a little bit of humor goes a long way, and in so many situations, if you don’t laugh, you just might cry. But this endless winter has taken its toll on my tolerance for petty nonsense, and I am ready to move into spring.
It is hard when the weight of the world seems to create a collective sadness, especially in the case of the missing Malaysian jet. I intentionally stayed away from this topic in my last column, hoping that by now, we would have some answers to this painful mystery. But now, it is already almost a month since Flight 370 disappeared without a trace, and we have no answers. The families’ anguish is unimaginable.
One hopes for the fantastic straight out of the movies or TV: perhaps it was an alien abduction and all people on board will return safely to earth soon, in a giant silver capsule. Maybe, like an episode straight out of the Twilight Zone, the plane is flying in an endless loop, and like the alien spacecraft, will touch down safely, with new answers about the universe. Or maybe it will be like the television show “Lost” and the plane has landed in some remote jungle, but the people are alive and will return to their families with awesome stories about their fantastic voyage.
Somehow the possibility that we — and their loved ones — may never know what happened is even more troubling than the possibility that the plane did go down somehow. At least that scenario provides answers and closure. So, like this endless winter, this story drags on.
But at least we know that spring will be here. The buds poking through and the occasional warmth of the sun on our faces tell us so. But the mystery of the Malaysian jet may never be resolved. I confess that the small pit in my stomach that forms any time any of my loved ones takes a plane has grown just a little bit bigger.
So April Fools’ is out but Easter, though we don’t celebrate it in the religious sense, will have special significance this year, as the symbol of rebirth and new possibility. Though I don’t personally like to celebrate my own birthday, my mother’s 80th (as noted in my column of March 21) and my father-in-law’s 90th in November are big events on the family calendar.
And just last week, there was the 60th surprise party for our dear friend Steve Putterman, whose family gathered friends and family for an old-fashioned hoedown with square dancing. In the olden days in Korea, the 60th was the grand event of one’s lifetime, considered a full life cycle, but now, with greater longevity, 60 is still but a baby.
Steve, an avid golfer, noted how blessed he is in the important things in life, especially for those of us on the back nine. To this, Bill said to me in stage whisper: “We should tell him to play 36; then he’d still be in the first half.”
As the events of the world swirl around us, it is even more important than ever before to pause, to celebrate special times like these, and to take note of all the good things — the love of family and friends, health, and the time we spend together — because none of it comes with a guarantee.
