The Shojis

The Shojis

I am in my forties at my wife’s family home at Christmas morning.

I am waiting as my wife’s family does the secret santa gift exchange. This gift exchange was normal until I changed it to something more fun. I was randomly assigned Lesley’s mother multiple years in a row. Sally was the lead halfling and was always in motion and always talking and always had some secret agenda that I usually broke somehow. She was my children’s playmate and daily caretaker before going off to school, and her example is set in their compassion and smiles.

I had given her multiple gag gifts versus the normal stuff they were floating around: George Bush GI Joe, Trump Supporter Welcome Kit (including personalized signed copy of “My Head Is Trash” or whatever book he was pushing during his first campaign), etc.

The exchange mutated into something, all gag gifts and a friendly competition to see who’s the “winner.”

I didn’t care about winning, but the fates gave me the biggest challenge this year: Lesley’s father. A real to life rocket scientist with the whole slide rule, right stuff, send the shuttle up there. A lightweight, a dedicated father, and functionally mute.

Finding this funny this year was going to be hard. I could recognize this and do something lame. Rocket t-shirt or some crap. I started there and went to a “geek” site with science adjacent merchandise. Then, like a katana falling off the wall, I see it and I hear this slowly start playing in my head:

[SONG LYRICS] Behold the Lord High Executioner! A personage of noble rank and title— A dignified and potent officer,

Behold — behold — BEHOLD—

… and I see it, a T-Shirt with a speaker in front, and, the chef’s kiss, you could load your own “songs.” In my case, these would be phrases that my father-in-law could say by simply pressing a button. There were about 12, but the one on number one was something he said frequently. He enjoys ice tea, but not the tropical kind. The latter is dog piss and is found everywhere where the man just wants cold black tea in a glass with ice. Button one was a voice-to-text:

[I’D LIKE ICE TEA.] (pausing) [… AND LEAVE THE FRUIT CRAP OUT OF IT.]

Something smooth, commanding, and somehow a future voice in his life.

It was a tense gift exchange as it is “secret.” I didn’t like that part because, well, everybody knew what gift (outbound) was mine. Talking shirts are not your usual matter and I finally have to help. The button pushed the first sound out, and he laughs. I sigh and win that year.