Well Hello! Comes now another semi-annual installment of
blogging drivel, courtesy of yours truly. First and foremost, seeing as it’s
Christmas and there is snow on the ground and cheer in the air, I’d like to
wish everyone and then some (just to be safe) the Merriest of Christmases!
On that note, it’s always incredibly relaxing being back
home and surrounded by family. So relaxing in fact, that today I dug out one of
the old Gnusletter books and read it on the couch for hours. To those who are
unfamiliar, which I’m guessing the vast majority are, the Gnusletters started
circa 1975, when my grandfather began writing regular letters to all of his
offspring (Seven, to be approximate) keeping them abreast of the various goings-on
in the family. They were, if he may say so himself ‘a witty, cogent,
comprehensive, brilliantly worded, precise yet all-encompassing narrative which
brilliantly placed the entire ouvre in context.’
This tradition continued with gusto until 2007, when God
decided he needed a few more side-splitting laughs up in heaven and summoned
the old geezer to join him. Thankfully, in what is widely regarded as one of
the best gifts ever, he digitized all of the old letters, had them published in
multiple volumes, and gave copies to all of his progeny. It occupies an entire
bookshelf.
This then, is what I was reading this afternoon, when I came
across the following entry. It is, with no close second, the greatest prank
ever pulled on me, and pulled off by none other than my loving grandfather. I
still remember this incident as if it were yesterday. It is reproduced below
[with my own commentary in brackets]:
March 20, 2004 [I was 15]
Here are the results of the greatest hoax I have EVER
perpetrated.
THE BACKGROUND
Last week, Sean Andrew [My dad] emailed me a story about how
Ian, in a Catholic Youth Organization basketball game, slam dunked the ball and
claimed his first broken backboard. Yes! Shattered glass, limply hanging rim,
the works. This is what gave me my opening. I created the attached invoice
ostensibly from the Archdiocese of Manhattan (There IS no archdiocese of
Manhattan) to Ian Fox in the amount of $2,476.37. I thought it was sufficiently
enormous to evoke immediate suspicion by Ian. Turns out that was a very bad
assumption.
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After mailing the invoice, I e-mailed Sean Andrew and
alerted him to what I was doing. He, in turn, alerted Eileen [my mom] who
turned out to be more of a culprit than I. Poor Ian.
According to Eileen, who was in the kitchen when Ian, who
was near the dining room table and talking on the telephone with his friend
Robert, opened the letter. He froze as he read it, blurted out “I’ll talk to
you later, Robert,” and hung up.
“Is that about your weekend trip, Ian?”, asked Eileen innocently.
“No”, was all the response she got.
She watched as he held the letter out at arm’s length,
dropped it on the table, and maintained his arm in extended position. STUNNED.
Eileen went into the dining room to see the invoice lying on
the table and a speechless eldest son staring at it. Reading it Eileen
exclaimed “$161 just for cleaning up? You could have done that and saved all
that money.”
“They wouldn’t let us! It was all glass!” he replied in an
anguished voice.
Handing him the letter, Eileen asked innocently, “And to
whom do you have to send the money?”
“To Monsignor Arthur (Shorty) Snively,” he replied
“That’s your Grandpa,” said Eileen
“WHAT?!”, he asked, evidently refusing to believe that his
sweet old grandpa could do such a nefarious thing to his own grandchild. Well,
he not only could, but he DID. On the other hand, if a lad can’t trust his own
grandfather, whom CAN he trust, I ask you? This is undoubtedly the best one I
have ever pulled off, Gang. Sort of sets a standard, dontcha know?
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