The Prank That Never Happened

The truth about my father emerged only after a side journey through LarryLand.

I’ve never been a big fan of “absolute certainty.” To me it can be a very dangerous mindset.

The 9/11 terrorists were absolutely certain that they’d be whisked away to their version of Nirvana. Hardcore evangelists (and their aptly named “flock”) are absolutely certain that their way to wholesome, righteous living is the only way. And, pulling my own covers, I am absolutely certain that fans of the Boston Celtics are the Spawn of Satan, crazed, fire-spitting mutants cloaked in green jerseys.

Still, there have been times when I’ve stumbled across what seems to be Truth, with a capital T. And when that’s happened, the pathway to Truth has usually involved a few loopy side trips through an imaginative, oddly enticing place in my head I’ll call LarryLand.

Case in point: the time I discovered some Very Important Truths about my father.

It happened 12 years ago, just one day after he died. I was on the phone with the man who would officiate my dad’s funeral the following day, Rabbi Thomsky. Knowing little about Dad and his life, the rabbi sought a number of details to round out the service, a few words of English to counterbalance all the Hebrew.

I paced slowly back and forth in my parents’ living room, my mother collapsed in a tan cloth recliner, fighting back tears as the rabbi and I spoke.

“How many children did your father have?” he inquired.

“Three,” I said.

“How long were your folks married?”

“Fifty-eight years.”

Hearing that, Mom bowed her head and began to silently weep. I felt numbed by the raw intensity of the moment.

“Can you share with me a few highlights from your dad’s life?” Rabbi Thomsky asked. “Something of interest I can say at the service?”

That’s when it happened.

The Weirdness Lobe of my brain hijacked the rest of my cortex (and a pretty good chunk of my limbic system), and I quickly morphed into little more than a brain stem gripping a phone.

I pictured my father flying his F-86 in the Korean War, gunning for Russian MiG-15s. I visualized him years later, a veterinarian who spent much of his time working pro bono. I caught a glimpse of Dad creating one of his kinetic sculptures, some of which were showcased in The Metropolitan Museum of Art and The Getty Center.

Quite a life, yes?

Here’s the problem: Every single detail that I’d just imagined about Dad was false. Absolute nonsense. Pure fiction.

And I began giggling.

Flashing forward in time, I pictured the reaction of my father’s loved ones at the funeral service: their expressions of shock and bewilderment, perhaps even betrayal, as the rabbi droned on and on about a life that had absolutely nothing to do with Dad.

What would happen if I actually shared with the rabbi all the nonsense that LarryLand had just coughed up? This was a golden opportunity for a prankster – even a prankster in mourning, right?

Wrong.

I hemmed and hawed for one or two nanoseconds, before what few remaining “normal” neurons in my head backhanded me with: DO!! NOT!! DO!! IT!! (Stop and picture, for a moment, a few lively, sassy neurons bitch-slapping me across the face.)

Anyway, here’s what sealed the deal: the sight of my mother, eyes moist, lower lip quivering, as she tried to comprehend the new life-sized hole in her soul.

“You still there, Larry?” the rabbi said into the phone, snapping me back to reality.

“Sorry, yes,” I said. “You wanted details about Dad.”

“Please.”

So I told him.

I told him about the young boy raised in a family that, despite residing in the U.S., had been shattered by the Holocaust. How that boy became a young man who finished college and, after a stint in the army, headed west to California, where he soon met the love of his life, and how the young couple eventually had three kids, putting down roots in 1960s Orange County. I mentioned how Dad thrived as a sales engineer, making a comfortable living for his family, and about how he once gave up 25 percent of his sales territory, a significant chunk, in order to save a co-worker’s job.

I recalled Dad’s early love of flying gliders, the silent freedom he enjoyed while soaring and pirouetting in the blue expanse above. I added how, when my mother one day came to him in tears and begged him to give up this risky hobby – she’d had visions of raising three young children alone – he did so immediately, no questions asked. I talked about how Dad never drank, gambled or had the slightest hint of legal trouble, about his involvement as a volunteer in the Boy Scouts, his decades-long love of sailing, how he always stressed working hard and getting good grades, the time he first introduced my brother and me to a shared passion, basketball …

I could’ve gone on with the rabbi for another hour, sharing more about who Dad was and the good life he led.

But by then my mother wasn’t the only one in tears.

Because everything I’d said was true.

The following day, I was too numb to recall much about the funeral. I imagine Rabbi Thomsky included a few poignant details about Dad’s life, and I guess those in attendance must’ve nodded and smiled through their tears when they were reminded of the kind of man he was: sensitive beneath a facade of armor, generous, occasionally bombastic, loyal, so very, very stubborn, clever …

… a lot like his son.

Today, I have no regret – absolutely none – over my decision to not pull that silly prank.

Nevertheless, I know for a fact that when it’s my time to be laid to rest, a certain lifelong friend (and fellow irreverent rascal) will step forward during the funeral and spin several ridiculous yarns, including: the time I became a chess grandmaster at age 3, how I scaled Mt. Everest bare-chested, wearing only flip-flops and cargo shorts, how my own kinetic sculptures wound up displayed in The Getty …

And if you happen to be at my funeral when these comical details emerge …

… stop. And listen carefully. You might hear an odd sound coming from my coffin.

That would be me.

Giggling.

Kudos to the following, all members of Write Hearted, for their valuable input: Rick Lewis, Dominik Gmeiner, Neha Patel and Kathy Ayers.