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  There's no way around it. Some people are just awkward. And I believe there is no better resource of awkward conversation than right inside one's own family - my family, to be exact.
My family is a complex combination of my mother's assertive, loving and affectionate side and my father's reserved, quiet and sometimes unwelcoming side. It's the latter I find more awkward.
As children, we were rarely complimented by them. And on the rare occasion that they passed a smile in our direction, it always took a few minutes to completely digest what was said. The barb of the comment lingered in our throats; often leaving us with nothing to say.
For example, when I was young I was fat. And I played baseball. After every game, my grandfather (Dad's side) would deliver one of those barbed compliments.
"Boy," he would say, "you really hit that ball far tonight."
 I would smile.
"It's gotta be all that-" trying to find the right word he would gesticulate with his hands, emphasizing a large body, "-all that power. You've got a lot of power behind you."
Let it simmer, let it simmer…oh, there it is. Grandpa just called me fat.
But my mom's side can also be awkward. So you now know I was fat as a child. And until eighth grade I attended a Catholic school; in which we were required to wear a uniform.
We would be shopping in Fred Meyer or its equivalent and my grandma always seemed to tag along and help me pick out my clothes. Love my grandma, I do. But it got weird.
In those stores are always creepy salesmen. They usually come equipped with a rotund belly (much like mine at the time), glasses and more pens in their breast pocket than hair on their head.
"Hey-ey-ey big guy," the jolly assistant chuckled to me, as he pat me on the head. Yes, he pat me on the head. "I'm Dan. What can I help you find?"
Grandma always gets flattered easily, so she said, "Oh, well Dan, he's looking for uniform pants. They need to be blue khacki-style pants."
"OK, what size?" he asked.
"Oh, well, he's," great, I thought, here it comes, "he's….husky."
"Ah! A husky fella, not unlike myself," he shouted.
He went on to tell me of his past girlfriends, how his wife won't let him play golf when he wanted to and about his new dog. I was 12. I didn't give a shit.
Dan the men's/young boy's clothing assistant at my neighborhood Fred Meyer was trying to be my role model; just what I always wanted. I just waited him to start talking about his cheating wife or erectile dysfunction. That, after all, may have been more comfortable. |
The Josh
