Tom and I met 17 years ago last week. Truly a lifetime ago, but still feels like yesterday. As much time as we spend together, we’re still learning new things about the other. Kinda nice. Keeps the spark alive. Not really, but it sounds good. We met at band camp, and please feel free to make all the band camp jokes you’d like, but I’ve been to and worked at more band camps than I can count and I’ve never seen a band camp like the one made famous in that movie. Band camps like the one in that movie don’t exist, and if they do, they don’t exist for long. Sorry to burst that movie bubble. Just remember the whole “Suspension of Disbelief” that movies require, and you’ll be fine from here on out. You’re welcome. You may continue on your life journey now.
Going back to my husband. Yes, we met at band camp, and then he was my TA. And now, let’s make all the jokes about the TA and the undergrad. Again, overblown. Only once was he required to grade me and he passed it on to a different TA, so problem averted. It was actually pretty tame, come to think of it. Most of the profs at the music school were either dating, had dated, or had married students, so a TA and an undergrad wasn’t going to garner a lot of attention. I just tease him about it because of our age difference.
Our first date was to see “Robin Hood: Men in Tights.” Bad movie. Really bad. But. A Mel Brooks movie. One of his worst, but still, humor at its finest. We kinda knew then that we had something special. When the first date is to see a movie by the world’s finest Equal Opportunity Offender, you know. Doesn’t explain why I’m able to out-quote Tom with Family Guy cartoons, but at least he appreciates my talent.
Tom’s first Father’s Day gift was to the Broadway production of “The Producers” with Nathan Lane and Matthew Broderick. He happened to be in NYC for meetings, he had a contact there snag him a ticket, and in my sleep-deprived haze I was thrilled for him.
(Yes, this is rambling. I’m getting to the point. I think. Maybe not. Humor me, it’s hot and my allergies are threatening to take the coup south from the sinuses and invade the lungs. And then the kumquats. Sniff, snort. Where’s the Benadryl? Screw the Benadryl, where’s the rum?)
On Friday we had tickets for the traveling production of “Young Frankenstein.” I’ve been a fan of this movie since I was about A’s age, so a very.long.time. Let us not do the math, for I do not like the answer. Not surprisingly, Tom and I can quote the movie nearly line for line (and also that of “Blazing Saddles,” my favorite Mel Brooks movie). He saw “Young Frankenstein” on Broadway in New York a couple years ago (seeing a theme here?) and he knew I’d love it. He was correct. Unbelievable show. I knew it would be good, but this was even better than I expected. Sadly, I was cross-eyed tired by mid-second act and struggled to stay awake.
The boys have asked to watch “Young Frankenstein,” and we’ve managed to put them off to this point. We think they’ll miss some of the bawdier humor, but we’re not entirely sure we’re ready for them to watch it. I know passing lines back and forth with them will continue what my parents began, a deep love of the absurd, I’m just not sure I’m ready for it yet. But I gotta tell ya, they’re gonna love it when they do watch it.
With parents like they have, it’s their destiny. And we all know, there’s no escaping destiny. Right, Dr. Frahnkensteen?