April 1 brings me back in my mind to Long Island, and East Broadway Elementary School. It's where I learned that a natural prankster like me had a day where telling people bullshit stories and trying to get them to believe them was not only permitted, but encouraged. I have celebrated ever since.
When D2 was in kindergarten, I told her that her friend Amelia was fine, but had shrunk overnight, and was now only a foot tall. I explained that when she saw her, she should just treat her normally -- Amelia would probably grow back to her normal height soon. When we fetched Amelia for car pool pickup, D2 looked at me. I had inducted her to the April Fools' Society. I'm not sure whether or not this caused any need for therapy in later years...
My best prank involved my friend Peter, who, in 1991 had referred a case that was about to settle for a LOT of money. He and his partner Gene went out and leased luxury cars based upon the coming co-counsel check, which was very large. I called him and told him the defense lawyers had surveillance on our client running a marathon and partying on South Beach, despite his traumatic brain injury and shredded leg. Pete was silent. How could this happen? We already had a multimillion dollar offer to settle???
Since I'm only mildly sadistic, I called him within the hour to remind him what day it was. He was so despondent, he thought I meant the day of the week. "Yes -- bad things happen to me on Tuesdays." I kept on, and then it struck, and he called me curse words in English and Spanish. I knew it wasn't possible that dogs could be whores and I could be the son of one of them, but it was a GREAT insult in Spanish.
We laughed a lot, and the best news was that the client, now a millionaire, indeed made a wonderful recovery, and we became friends. I last emailed with him last year.
These days, FaceBook (tm) is my mode of AFD humor. A few years ago, I said that Pitbull had offered us 8 figures for our house and we were moving. Our neighbor Roberta was horrified -- talk about there goes the neighborhood. I saw it differently -- what would be cooler than having Pitbull next door, with the sick parties and video shoots with scantily clad models? I told Roberta the following day it was bullshit -- really 50 Cent was the one who bought my house.
Today, I assume everyone will know my AFD post is absurd. Wifey's been on Mounjaro and has lost a lot of weight. I read recently that one of the strange side effects of this miracle weight loss injectable is it interferes with birth control meds, and so I posted that Wifey was indeed pregnant and that our grandsons would soon have an uncle or aunt younger than they.
I am NOT allowed to ever mention Wifey's age, or the fact that Eisenhower was president when she was born, and so a pregnancy would seem rather, um, far fetched. We'll see.
Meanwhile, I plan to reminisce as I walk this am. Those days at East Broadway were indeed so halcyon and carefree. I was blessed with an awesome childhood. It's nice to be able to recapitulate some of it.
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