Frydee Funnie

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Oh Cos!

I was laughing so hard I couldn’t drive, which was OK ‘cause Dad was driving. The particulars of this drive are lost to history, but the tape in my tape deck (you young’uns know it as a CD or MP3) was The Dad, Bill Cosby, holding forth on his children.

My Dad wasn’t laughing.

Dad was nodding his head, beating Bill to some of the punch lines and generally agreeing with everything The Cos had to say. Back then, I figured Dad just didn’t appreciate good comedy. Now, I know The Cos is not a comedian. He’s a reporter, like me.

Like me, The Cos tells it exactly like it happened. He never had to make anything up. He just told the truth. Kinda like a City Council meeting - I couldn’t make that stuff up if I tried.

“DADDY!” Susan screamed from the pool.

“What?” I gently inquired putting down the measuring tape and square, promptly forgetting for the 523rd time that morning what I was measuring and why I was measuring it. You may think I forgot the measurement too, but you’re wrong. I never got that far.

“Jesse won’t quit looking at me,” she said.

Jesse was staring off into space, leaning on the wall, as if the most important thing in the world was a pecan tree leaf and whether or not it would fall in the pool.

I briefly considered telling Jesse to stare at his sister again and I’d join him. I knew this would irritate Susan beyond belief, so rather than risk electrocution by having two yelling, crying, soaked children join me in the middle of a snake’s nest of power tool cords, I grunted and returned to my weapons of math instruction.

“DADDY!” Susan screamed.

“What?” I asked, coming around the barn door for the 524th time in less than 10 minutes.

“Jesse won’t get out of my spot,” she said.

Jesse was in the exact same spot he’d been in for the past few minutes. The pecan tree leaf, apparently, was proving a tough customer even under the withering super-hero power-beam gaze my son apparently wields when no adult is watching.

“You gotta whole pool to be on the side of,” I said.

“That’s my spot,” Susan said.

I went back into the barn.

“DADDY!” Jesse yelled.

“At least it’s a different kid this time,” I muttered to myself as I rounded the barn door for the 525th time. When I say rounded, I mean it. I’ve rushed around the door so many times in response to a hair-standing scream that I’ve rounded the edge off and polished it to a high sheen.

“Yes?” I said.

“Susan hit me,” Jesse said.

“Did you hit her?” I asked, figuring I knew what the response would be. I have a 90 percent record of success on this question.

“Yes,” he said.

“Then it’s settled,” I said.

This time I just slipped inside the door and stood there.

“DADDY!” Jesse yelled.

I simply stuck my head around the door this time.

“Susan hit me,” he said.

“Well, did you hit her?”

“No,” he said.

Well, I’m right 90 percent of the time.

“Well, hit her and you’ll be even,” I said.

Rather than hit her, he opted to turn his Power Vision Crippling Eye Blast Gaze on Susan.

“DADDY! Jesse won’t stop looking at me,” Susan yelled.
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