In my family you never give any of my children an opening for a zinger. With great pleasure and cheerfulness they will zing you. I think they can’t help themselves and the apple doesn’t drop far from the tree–unfortunately. And even though, I tell them that what is good for the gander isn’t necessarily good for the goose — they won’t listen! Somewhere in my obscure reasoning from the onset of ‘motherhood’ I decided to use humor to raise my flock of geese. Perhaps a little different approach than other Mum’s during mid-century America but I think my kids turned out A-O-K, although I could be slightly bias. At least they can hold their own at a comedy club (but that’s another post) or a backyard barbecue for light humor banter when the occasion requires. Not everyone has this talent.
But, today as my daughter drove her grandmother home from the hospital (she’s 87, not my daughter but my mother) I noticed a sound I recognized as a rear-end issue (for the car, not the occupants thereof) from where I sat — in the rear — but not wanting to be a total alarmist (Oh my God, the cars falling apart, we’re doomed to the side of the road–call Triple-A!) I q-u-i-e-t-l-y said “Um, Pam when you get home you might want John to check out your read-end” —- Zinger! Opening! She went for it and the entire car rocked and rolled down the highway 70 outside of Dayton and continued onto Old Troy Pike Way pass the Kroger before it settled down. Zingers — one of life’s greatest gifts?