Too Close To The Tree

I have often been accused of having a wacky sense of humor. No, let me rephrase that. For wacky is too kind a word. Actually, at various and sundry times my sense of humor has been called weird, morbid, macabre, silly, strange, odd, or bizarre. Indeed, I have repeatedly heard the comment: “You’re just not normal.”

Now such comments would hurt and sting, except for one very important fact. All these statements are basically true. My sense of humor tends to the unusual. But I come by my perverse way of looking at life legitimately. You know that old saying… the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Well, in my case this is true, because I think I get my sense of humor from my father, who had his own unique brand of humor. (By the way, both apples from this tree are a tad odd… my sister, Connie, is every bit as bizarre as I am when it comes to what tickles our respective funny bones!)

Die Laughing

I have several times in my life met individuals who have never been to a funeral. I cannot imagine this. Funerals have always been a part of my life. My parents were both from rather large families. My mother was one of seven children, and my father one of twelve. And both were among the younger siblings in their respective families. So growing up I had tons of aunts and uncles and older cousins—old enough to die even. Funerals were a part of my upbringing.

The first funeral I can remember was an uncle, married to my Aunt Lou. I was about three. That started the ball rolling. Then there was another uncle when I was about seven. Then another uncle. Then an aunt. Then my grandfather. A few older cousins began to go. It was beginning to look like a trend. The peak was reached when I was about thirteen. One fall day I lost my grandmother. This was my mother’s mother, who lived with us while I was growing up. Then an aunt died about a week later. Then another aunt about two weeks after that. I lost my other grandmother about two months later. This was definitely getting ridiculous.