Sometimes even Mom got the joke

Jason Offutt

The envelope the postman slid into our mailbox wasn’t addressed to anyone in our house.

It wasn’t for the popular “Occupant,” or even a former resident (although I appreciate your Victoria’s Secret catalogue. Thanks).

The envelope read: “Bertha Offutt.”

I know the name.

I should, I lived with her for 20-some years. She cooked my food, yelled at me for putting my feet on the furniture and occasionally threatened to crack me with a wooden spoon if I didn’t straighten up.

Bertha Offutt was my mother, but she didn’t live with me.

She didn’t even live at all.

Ripping open the pale green envelope, I found a note from a nation-wide hearing-aid company with the following words in all caps: “OUR RECORDS SHOW IT HAS BEEN MORE THAN 24 MONTHS SINCE YOUR LAST HEARING EXAM.”

That sounds right.

Since my mother’s been dead for the past eight years she hasn’t been available to schedule an exam. Thank you for reminding me, large faceless company with no soul.

Oh, it’s no big deal, really. She’d probably find it funny.

Well, maybe.

Mom’s sense of humor ranged from good (she enjoyed “The Carol Burnett Show”) to almost non-existent (I mean she liked Jeff Foxworthy. She really liked Jeff Foxworthy).

As the weird one in our house while I was growing up, I became fascinated with the odd newspaper comic, “The Far Side.”

Mom, being awesome, wanted to share my love for humor and read “The Far Side” every day.

Trouble is, she didn’t get it.

Cigarette smoking dinosaurs, unsuccessful medieval knights with bulls-eye insignia on their chests, and monsters afraid of that thing on top of the bed were just too much for her to grasp.

But she kept trying.

One day while I was in college, back before cell phones when people had to really work at communication, someone knocked on my dorm room door.

“Yeah,” I answered.

“Hey, Offutt. It’s your mom.”

Mom? My first thought was a meteor hit the barn.

I don’t know why, but that was always my first thought when she called.

I walked down the hall to one of the three phones everyone on that floor used.

“Mom?” I said tentatively into the receiver.

“I got one, Jason.”

The excitement in her voice was electric.

“Got what, Mom?”

“A ‘Far Side’ cartoon. It was lice and they were afraid of tweezers. I finally got one.”

Good for you, Mom.

Maybe her “The Far Side” issues had something to do with her hearing.

I should probably get her scheduled for that exam. I bet it’s going to be harder than getting AARP benefits for my dad.

The AARP once sent a card to my house addressed to him with the words, “Welcome to AARP: Member benefits list enclosed.”

I sent the letter back to the AARP with his address since 2002: South Point Cemetery, Orrick, Missouri.

I think even Mom would find that funny.

Jason Offutt’s novel, “A Funeral Story,” is available at amazon.com.