Saturday, July 18, 2009
Dad's Joke
Just before my second trip out to Milton this spring to help as Mom went through chemotherapy, I asked my small group Bible study leader in Canton for a new joke. I don't remember if he had just told a really bad one that night or if it was just from knowing Joe well enough. But I knew I needed to take a new joke back with me to Pennsylvania. Dad's latest one needed replaced badly. So Joe gave me this:
"The medical profession seems to have really gotten themselves confused with all their technical terms these days. They call that operation for a woman a his-terectomy, and the common male problem a her-nia."
Yeah, I know. Joe needs to work on his material a bit. But I have to tell you that Dad loved it. And told it a few times, too.
You see Dad really liked to start out his relationship with a doctor or a nurse with at least one joke. Even that last week of his life. Or perhaps especially that last week. From the moment that I caught up with him in the emergency room, each new professional who walked up to him had to suffer through "the joke." And at each shift change or change in prognosis we must have seen a new half-dozen professionals. Now, remember, since the stroke 10 years ago, Dad's speech was slow. Clear and lucid, but slow. I had to encourage a fair number of young doctors to just listen with patience as Dad repeated some variation on this:
"I've got a medical question for you. It's been bugging me. Could you tell me... You see, when you have your tonsils out, they call it a tonsillectomy. And when you have your appendix out, they call it an appendectomy. And last week I had this growth removed from my head. Now, what would you call that?"
And, of course, the doctors, especially the young interns and guys a bit unsure of themselves, took this hook, line and sinker. You'd be surprised at the technical terms they'd try to dredge up from their recent studies. But fairly quickly Dad would come to their rescue.
"Well, hmmm.... I don't know about you folks here in Danville, but over in Milton, we just call it a haircut."
I know. It's a groaner. I'm sure he first told me that one when I was in elementary school and I've been groaning ever since, each time he pulled it out of the mothballs. But, I have to say, it was still effective and he probably told it three dozen times in three days. The preacher even told it again during the memorial service, it was such a signature of those last days.
Now you may just be thinking, "How cute. The old guy liked bad jokes." But I think that practice of telling a bad joke was a decision that came out of a lifetime of working with people. I think it was quintessential Jack Hampton and I hope I have as much wisdom at that stage of life.
You see whenever he told that joke, the busy doctor had to stop a minute and listen, the harried nurse had to take a bit of time to pay attention to the old man. And when he caught them taking themselves a touch too seriously, he connected. One human to another. He quit being an old patient in his last years. He ceased to be a "case" to be solved. Now he was Jack, a man with intelligence behind those eyes, a guy who was going through a hard time, but a man who had perspective, nonetheless, and who knew they, too, were people who could laugh and cry and think. It was a kind and gentle way to connect at a personal level.
In the family, my Dad and his brother, Dick, had a reputation for flirting with waitresses. I witnessed the procedure a number of times. As a young man I was terribly embarrassed by the whole routine and always wished I could crawl under the table. They would address the young lady by name and engage her in conversation and tell a joke or ask a personal question (like "What's your boyfriend's name?") and generally aim to get her to do more than simply deliver the order. I thought it was cruel at the time. Except the waitresses rarely minded. If they really did, the guys backed off. It was all "in fun" and I don't think they had any goal other than to connect and make the encounter personal. The fun wasn't hurting someone. It was knowing them, even just a bit.
People were people to Dad. I saw him connect in all sorts of other situations throughout life. With my friends, with strangers, with people on committees, with my new in-laws. He always asked questions and tried to get people to open up. It wasn't a successful conversation for him unless he could get the person to interact in a friendly and more than superficial way. I'm sure that was why he was a successful Personnel / HR guy. He liked people and liked working with them. He just naturally interviewed people. He couldn't help himself. It was fun for him simply to get to know folks.
When Americans visit us here in Senegal, we have to stress how important it is to take time to greet people, shaking hands and asking after family and life affairs. The wolof language has no "please.” We establish all that "please" means at the beginning of a conversation when we take time to acknowledge each other and reconnect with respect and joy. It's not easy for Americans to learn to greet like that, but I think my father was a natural. It's what his joke did for him at the hospital. He greeted each new person and communicated his respect and honor and offered them friendship.
In an age in the US when no one has time to just sit and talk, when our chief value is efficiency and getting things done, Dad forced the folks around him to take time. That one very bad joke, told so very seriously to people who were so very serious about their jobs, cut through the underbrush and said, "Talk to me, now. I'm Jack Hampton, a person just like you, who can get you to laugh and laugh with you."
