Short Stuff
M.C. IDOL Chapter 3
Mom and Dad have been doing their thing, serious grown-up conversations about things involving, their retirement plans, the stock market, wars around the world, gas prices, their cell phone plans, ‘what’s-for-dinner?’ and ‘when is Dad going to finish his ‘remodel’ on the downstairs bathroom?’ since they got home from work. This isn’t a new thing around here; it happens pretty much every night. My parents always start these conversations all happy and enthusiastic and nice . . . that’s how it always starts.
After a while, though, my sister and I always start looking back and forth at one another because, to be honest, things start to turn, well, not all that happy.
And this is where my being a comedian comes into play. Actually, Doneen’s friend Jeanne had it right! “What are you some kind of comedian?” As a matter of fact, I AM.
I don’t think my dad likes me all that much. Even when he’s not discussing important grown-up garbage with Mom, I tend to annoy him. My mom on the other hand loves me a lot, even when she IS talking about economic disasters and politics and boring crazy adult crud that makes them both sort of grumpy and mad. My dad loves my sister Angie a ton, and my mom loves me, Dylan Dillon. Yep, that’s my name. If you think about it, how could anybody with a name like mine not be born to make people laugh? Some day, when I’m ready, I’ll change my name. I’m just not sure what my new name, my stage/famous guy name will be, at least not yet.
The thing is, I’m the funniest kid in the world. Really, I am. You can ask anybody who knows me . . . well . . . except maybe my dad and Doneen Hudson. Dad laughs at what adults call my ‘antics’ a lot of the time too, but not so much at my little skits and stuff, as he seems to be laughing at how stupid he thinks I am, and Doneen, as previously mentioned, doesn’t know I exist. My mom, though, thinks I’m hilarious. She roars with laughter, sometimes even spilling her coffee which, when that happens, Dad always yells at me to “knock it off!” like it’s my fault that I’m so funny that Mom can’t keep her coffee cup upright.
When I say that I’m the funniest kid in the world I don’t mean that I’m a full-fledged comedian yet. Heck, I’m only 12. I never tell jokes, well, hardly ever, I just make funny faces and walk funny and do impersonations of people, like old men, or tough teenagers, or Mafia type hit men guys, only I don’t use all the actual swear words they use, I just mumble. Sometimes I also imitate people on TV who look ridiculous to me.
I figure if I’m funny enough, I’ll get Mom and Dad back into grown-up-solving-all-the-problems-in-the-world hour instead of Dad sliding into mad-and-yelling-at-Dylan-hour.