The family tree bears hilarious fruit

BEN POGGEMILLER

Being an amateur math enthusiast, I have a healthy respect for a good formula. I am also an amateur television fanatic, which causes certain conflicts to arise such as the fact that I hate formulaic TV. Television is a realm in which the homogeneous reigns, and the original rarely succeeds. It is ironic that the best show on television in a long time was cancelled last year, and that its title reflects the state of its medium

so perfectly. I refer, of course, to the brilliantly written Arrested Development. I’ll stop myself from getting into the show’s astounding use of techniques such as foreshadowing and selfreference, and simply tell you that you must see this show.

This fall there are, of course, a few shows worth watching but they are few in number, leaving a large void in my life. I’ve tried filling it with more “worthwhile” activities such as reading and exercising, but extraneous learning isn’t for me and sweat is overrated. After searching for a new source of entertainment, I found it in the last place I expected: my parents. Parents are like TV in more ways than you might think. They can often be dull and predictable, but if you tune in at the right time, you’re in for a treat. Once you’re an adult, your parents may “loosen up,” and tell you things they might not have told you earlier in life, for fear of racking up the child-psychologist bills.

Listening to your parents’ stories doesn’t have to be a major time commitment either, and you have a chance to laugh with them and not at them, or at least a chance to laugh at them, with them. Here’s an example. Growing up, my father’s family was quite poor and they didn’t have extra money to spend on haircuts. As a result, they employed a local man to cut the children’s hair, rather inexpensively. My father was a teenager by this point, and had grown rather fond of his sideburns. When he went to get his hair cut, he asked the man ever-so-nicely if he could spare the sideburns. The man replied, quite gruffly, “Who do you think you are, Elvis Presley?” and shaved them off anyway. The story takes less than a minute, but the entertainment value in the ’60s, compounded annually over four decades, comes to: pretty funny, actually. Then there’s my mother’s horseback-riding experience, in which the horse hit a tree, knocking my mother off the horse, and knocking the tree on to my mother. Not bad, when you have How I Met your Mother and Two and a Half Men to compete with. Of course, I picture these stories as grainy footage, since my imagination can’t comprehend what real life looked like back then. Life wasn’t high-def in the 60s, was it?

Whether you’re wondering where your mom got a certain scar from, or you’re curious as to why your dad has a bad association with birds, I bet there’s a story involved. They’ll be glad you asked and so will you. I’d take that over Howie Mandel any day.