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Bud Grossmann’s
Words of the Week
for the Week of
July 24, 2005
Published as Family History in a
Gramma Letter dated September 24, 1996.
© 1996 by Bud Grossmann.
All Rights Reserved.
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David & Pasha, 1983
© 1983 by Bud Grossmann
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COMMUNICATING WITH A KISS
Frances and I used to own a house on a mountain ridge in Honolulu where FM radio reception was excellent. Stations came in as clear as could be, except, alas, the one we liked best, Hawaii Public Radio—KHPR. That one was staticky. To bring KHPR into our living room, I looped a wire clothes hanger around our radio’s antenna, hooked another hanger to the first, and fastened the second one to a metal desk lamp. That made the programs sound better—not perfect, but better.
One summer Saturday, after supper, I turned on my favorite radio program—“A Prairie Home Companion”—and got so much buzzing and popping that Frances couldn’t stand it. She asked me to please use our pocket-sized radio and listen with earphones. So I did. With the little radio I could hear the show (and the static), while Frances and our four-year-old son, David, could enjoy a book together, undisturbed.
I like to sing along with the songs and laugh out loud when the show is funny. Since I was wearing earphones, though, Fran and David couldn’t share in my laughing and singing. Feeling self-conscious and considerably inhibited, I abandoned my family and went into the back bedroom to listen.
The sun was gone, but the evening was breezeless and miserably warm. I was wearing shorts and no shirt. I didn’t turn on the bedroom light. I just stretched out on top of the bedspread in the darkness, and sang and chuckled to my heart’s content.
After a time, David came in and turned on the light. He pointed at me and then himself and said, “Look, Daddy, we match. We’re both wearing the same no-shirt.” I nodded but didn’t reply because Garrison Keillor was beginning to report “The News from Lake Wobegon.” David sat down beside me and began pushing a pair of little toy cars up and down the hills and valleys of the bedcovers. His back was close to my face. I sat up, leaned forward, and kissed him on his bare shoulder.
A funny thing happened. When my lips touched my son, the static in my earphones disappeared! Mr. Keillor suddenly sounded like he was right there with us on the bed, telling us his story.
I stopped kissing David’s shoulder, and the static came back. I tried putting a finger on David, but the static stayed. When I kissed him again, the static went away!
Somehow when I kissed David on the shoulder, he became a big antenna for my radio! For the next quarter hour, David played with his cars, and I just kept my lips on his shoulder until Garrison Keillor ended his story by saying, “That’s the news from Lake Wobegon, where all the women are strong, all the men are good-looking, and all the children are above average ... crackle, crackle, sputter, crackle.”
Although I had made a significant scientific discovery, substantial impediments prevented my perpetuating its practical application. When our son grew too old to put up with parental shoulder kissing, Fran and I began looking for a new house, one located more directly in line with the KHPR broadcast tower. ♦
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