Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil

I got a message today on Facebook from a college friend and sorority sister. She’d reposted an ad for a foreign sunglasses company launching, (get this) a line of sunglasses named for Helen Keller.

Seriously?

My friend, who is very clever by the way, suggested that the most appropriate song to play as an accompaniment to the ad would have to be Alanis Morrisette’s “Isn’t It Ironic?”

At first, I wanted to comment that I am speechless, but that seemed a little cold, given Helen’s profound difficulties. And although my friends would have thought I was just being very clever, I couldn’t hit the “post” button.

But then my inner Estelle took over.

Both of my parents were/are funny people. My Dad was the life of the party when he wanted to be. Practical jokes, teasing. Funny little one liners that would tickle your rib cage. Amusing little ways of referencing things. He could be delightful.

My mother was funny, too. But by contrast, she was wickedly funny. Eye rolling at someone’s expense. Caustic little jabs at someone who was no match for her logic or her quickness. The first one to laugh if someone road their bike into a car door that had swung open unexpectedly. Brutal if you failed at something. I recall her being bent over and laughing to the point of tears when I could not get the car into first gear and get started up the hill when she was “teaching me” (shaming me) to drive a manual transmission car. She literally howled every time a frustrated driver beeped and passed me on the left, waving their arms and swearing. I wanted to abandon the car and her in it and let her get it going, if she’s so smart. I’d have gladly walked up the hill without her.

So naturally, my mother was a big fan of Helen Keller jokes. You know, before all this political correctness and the universal ban on reindeer games, and all the clutching the pearls anytime someone dared make a slightly off-color remark, however deserved.

Well, actually, I imagine she’s still a fan, it’s just that no one is telling them anymore. But rest assured, nothing would prevent Estelle from running through her repertoire if she thought she could get away with it at Bridge Club.

I go back to my iPhone and comment on my friend’s post. “And for the men’s line, the Pinball Wizard Collection.”

Because that deaf, dumb and blind kid sure plays a mean pinball. And therefore should have some sunglasses named after him. And maybe some Tommy Can Ya Hear Me ear muffs.

I am a little worried that my comment is insensitive and people will think I am a Terrible Person.

And then my other friend comments as well.

“Sunglasses at Night.”

I am off the hook.