TalkBass has been independent since 1998. Add your voice.
Create a free account to reply to discussions, view embedded media, and browse with fewer display ads.
Join free Log in
Want zero display ads or expanded classifieds tools? Compare plans.
Don't be sorry for posting the story. It was kind of interesting. I could see it becoming a National Film Board movie. Maybe you get a writing credit for an Academy Award winning short film.
Me neither. That's weird.
Alright, I'll tell you
I spent my early youth with my divorced mother and her parents, and spent a lot of time with the tv... back then we had Don Rickles, Louie Nye, etc., a lot of "cultural humor" that is frowned upon nowadays, if you get me. There were also some "old school" perspectives on people from other cultural and ethnic groups in my mom's clan... if you get me.
At the age of 11 I went to live with my dad and his family, his wife (I loved her! She was the coolest) and her daughter. Now there was company for dinner one night. Me having been saturated in an environment of less liberal leanings, well after I'd decided I felt pretty comfortable with my new dinner companions, I "let one fly" at the table- one that I'd heard Louie Nye do as part of a stand-up routine on tv, thinking I'd get a laugh. It referenced a person of Jewish association.
Ahem.
The table fell suddenly, awkwardly silent. Albert Grossman, Barry Feinstein, Bill Wattman, and my dad, stepsister and stepmother... our comfortable gathering had suddenly become a tableau of surprised horror. You could have heard a stone breath. It was awful... I hadn't understood at all the impact that such a remark would have, and it was quite the revelation- silencing a table of grown-ups with the sledge-hammer of destruction I didn't realize I was wielding. I had just done something very bad...
I'd been living with my dad about a year, and he apparently hadn't considered much about where I'd been, how I'd been raised, what that meant socially. Having now been utterly embarrassed and seriously put upon by his only son in front of influential people (that he wanted to impress), he sent me summarily from the table. For my part, well, it was a cold awakening, and now there was no way back. Left to my own devices, I withdrew to my room, and slowly conversation resumed, the voices from the room below now a soundtrack to some life I didn't take part in... like a television left on in someone else's house.
Years later I came to the opinion that my dad could have saved the day. But that simply wasn't his scope. Not his fault really, it wasn't in him.
And after all, I was the one who offended... I kinda laugh about it now, a poorly educated child laying a sobering, ugly whammy down and not one person in the room able to get it together. As un-funny as it actually was (it was a supremely awful feeling, to be such an offender).
I've thought about it, and am sure that in similar case, my kid would not be ejected from the table, but would stay and learn about what had just happened, have opportunity to take the part of whom they'd just unwittingly offended, be brought in instead of pushed out. Learn something and be forgiven and accepted. I don't think anyone wants to treat a kid who screws up like they're a bad person. I wasn't a bad kid, I just needed some education.
Ok, well you asked!
Anyway, I got to meet Albert Grossman.
Alright, I'll tell you
I spent my early youth with my divorced mother and her parents, and spent a lot of time with the tv... back then we had Don Rickles, Louie Nye, etc., a lot of "cultural humor" that is frowned upon nowadays, if you get me. There were also some "old school" perspectives on people from other cultural and ethnic groups in my mom's clan... if you get me.
At the age of 11 I went to live with my dad and his family, his wife (I loved her! She was the coolest) and her daughter. Now there was company for dinner one night. Me having been saturated in an environment of less liberal leanings, well after I'd decided I felt pretty comfortable with my new dinner companions, I "let one fly" at the table- one that I'd heard Louie Nye do as part of a stand-up routine on tv, thinking I'd get a laugh. It referenced a person of Jewish association.
Ahem.
The table fell suddenly, awkwardly silent. Albert Grossman, Barry Feinstein, Bill Wattman, and my dad, stepsister and stepmother... our comfortable gathering had suddenly become a tableau of surprised horror. You could have heard a stone breath. It was awful... I hadn't understood at all the impact that such a remark would have, and it was quite the revelation- silencing a table of grown-ups with the sledge-hammer of destruction I didn't realize I was wielding. I had just done something very bad...
I'd been living with my dad about a year, and he apparently hadn't considered much about where I'd been, how I'd been raised, what that meant socially. Having now been utterly embarrassed and seriously put upon by his only son in front of influential people (that he wanted to impress), he sent me summarily from the table. For my part, well, it was a cold awakening, and now there was no way back. Left to my own devices, I withdrew to my room, and slowly conversation resumed, the voices from the room below now a soundtrack to some life I didn't take part in... like a television left on in someone else's house.
Years later I came to the opinion that my dad could have saved the day. But that simply wasn't his scope. Not his fault really, it wasn't in him.
And after all, I was the one who offended... I kinda laugh about it now, a poorly educated child laying a sobering, ugly whammy down and not one person in the room able to get it together. As un-funny as it actually was (it was a supremely awful feeling, to be such an offender).
I've thought about it, and am sure that in similar case, my kid would not be ejected from the table, but would stay and learn about what had just happened, have opportunity to take the part of whom they'd just unwittingly offended, be brought in instead of pushed out. Learn something and be forgiven and accepted. I don't think anyone wants to treat a kid who screws up like they're a bad person. I wasn't a bad kid, I just needed some education.
Ok, well you asked!
Anyway, I got to meet Albert Grossman.
It's just a long rendering of an unhappy moment. There's redeeming in it, but not the kind of thing you just post anywhere. Here, I could post it...
Me too. The guy was relentless, never left character, and was in fact a genuine, big-hearted mensch.
The name reminds me of a well developed young lady with that name. I knew her in high school. Her brother was a bit of a jerk, but weren't we all at some point?
I'm not going to write anymore stories for a while.
and he probably remembers you!Alright, I'll tell you
I spent my early youth with my divorced mother and her parents, and spent a lot of time with the tv... back then we had Don Rickles, Louie Nye, etc., a lot of "cultural humor" that is frowned upon nowadays, if you get me. There were also some "old school" perspectives on people from other cultural and ethnic groups in my mom's clan... if you get me.
At the age of 11 I went to live with my dad and his family, his wife (I loved her! She was the coolest) and her daughter. Now there was company for dinner one night. Me having been saturated in an environment of less liberal leanings, well after I'd decided I felt pretty comfortable with my new dinner companions, I "let one fly" at the table- one that I'd heard Louie Nye do as part of a stand-up routine on tv, thinking I'd get a laugh. It referenced a person of Jewish association.
Ahem.
The table fell suddenly, awkwardly silent. Albert Grossman, Barry Feinstein, Bill Wattman, and my dad, stepsister and stepmother... our comfortable gathering had suddenly become a tableau of surprised horror. You could have heard a stone breathe. It was awful... I hadn't understood at all the impact that such a remark would have, and it was quite the revelation- silencing a table of grown-ups with the sledge-hammer of destruction I didn't realize I was wielding. I had just done something very bad...
I'd been living with my dad about a year, and he apparently hadn't considered much about where I'd been, how I'd been raised, what that meant socially. Having now been utterly embarrassed and seriously put upon by his only son in front of influential people (that he wanted to impress), he sent me summarily from the table. For my part, well, it was a cold awakening, and now there was no way back. Left to my own devices, I withdrew to my room, and slowly conversation resumed, the voices from the room below now a soundtrack to some life I didn't take part in... like a television left on in someone else's house.
Years later I came to the opinion that my dad could have saved the day. But that simply wasn't his scope. Not his fault really, it wasn't in him.
And after all, I was the one who offended... I kinda laugh about it now, a poorly educated child laying a sobering, ugly whammy down and not one person in the room able to get it together. As un-funny as it actually was (it was a supremely awful feeling, to be such an offender).
I've thought about it, and am sure that in similar case, my kid would not be ejected from the table, but would stay and learn about what had just happened, have opportunity to take the part of whom they'd just unwittingly offended, be brought in instead of pushed out. Learn something and be forgiven and accepted. I don't think anyone wants to treat a kid who screws up like they're a bad person. I wasn't a bad kid, I just needed some education.
Ok, well you asked!
Anyway, I got to meet Albert Grossman.
I remember the look on his face.
Thinking back in that light, everyone did seem a tad brittle at the social faux-pas of a child... what a good moment for some education. Being an enlightener to a child is a great privilege.
