Seven Things My Father`Used To Say

A Eulogy on Zoom

by Jack “Jackie” Stevens II, “CPA”

Dearly beloved,

I see no one has logged on yet, except me and my father, who hasn’t really longed on, you see, for he is still quite dead. I logged on for him, under his own Zoom account, which I will probably continue to use because of the special Zoom license he purchased to do interesting things like creating Brady Bunch squares of himself surrounding the photo of the only person ever to show up at his meetings, himself. Just in case you happen to want to hear this eulogy but are too embarrassed to be known as someone as who actually knew him, I am recording this session and will be exporting the file on YouTube where the proceedings may get more than one viewer, in addition to his wife (my Ma) Jane “Janey” Stevens and her live-in lover/gardener Raul Espinosa — who recently passed the bar, after a fifth try, in South Dakota, the Coyote State, whose exam “is the easiest to pass in the Union,” according to American Prisoner Magazine — because they are claiming that Pa, though dead, owes four years in “child support.” In 2016, they moved into a single-family two-bedroom home two minutes from Mount Rushmore in Keystone SD, known as “The home of the Carvers,” because that’s where all the carvers, who are dead, called home. I took the bedroom facing the outhouse which is the cause of Raul’s suspicion toward me on account of the fact that the outhouse is also his secret law office. But I digress. Raul and Ma — after a trip to Vegas, which is only 13 1/2 hours away by Greyhound — are now hoping to add an addition to the outhouse where I can hang a shingle for my new accounting business, now that I have earned a mail-order CPA and have a “good head for numbers,” according to Ma, and could earn as much as $50/week, which, according to Raul, “is almost enough to cover your room and board.” The rest I will cover from earnings delivering Grit Magazine on the adult-sized tricycle Raul stole from Walmart.

Although Raul, who is five years younger than me, is now legally my Pa, and has taught me a few life-enhancing skills, like riding an adult-sized tricycle, I am reminded here today of the seven things my biological father, Jack “Jackie” Stevens, used to say. I have committed them to memory and share them with the other boys in Keystone who work for Grit.

“That boy is slower than a ham sandwich in a three-legged race.”

He would say that to Ma a lot. It took me about 30 years to realize that the boy was me and that there’s no such thing as a ham sandwich in a three-legged race. It’s what you call a riddle.

“If you can’t catch a possum by its tail, it’s time to call Pizza Hut.”

He’d say this on Thursdays before dinnertime. Took me a while to understand that this was not a riddle.

“Mind your own dentures.”

Which turns out to be a “metaphor” meaning “stay out of this business.” It was confusing though because one of Pa’s favorite jokes was to hide his dentures in the darndest places, like Ma’s prize-winning Jell-O salad. He always had us guessing.

“Always show respect to a lady, unless she has a beard.”

Which is a reference, I have learned, to his sister-in-law Aunt Imogen. He once bought her an electric razor for Christmas. “Best day in my life,” he said.

“Do unto others if they fuck with you.”

He said it was the Golden Rule, and would ask me to look it up (“right there in Brittanica.” We had Compton’s).

“Now, looky here, mister.”

He’d say that to the mirror on the bathroom medicine cabinet, posing left and right in the 10-gallon souvenir hat that Raul won playing the slots at the Tropicana in Vegas. Raul called it a Christmas present.

“Your mom is cheating on me.”

Still trying to figure this one out.