As do all great authors and funnymen, I get a hefty chunk of my
material from others. Today I shamelessly plundered the great Spider Robinson for a one-two pun-ch to Ben, since he hadn't made any
observations of note lately.
(I'll
replace the text and add copyright info once I find this dog in Spider's work.)
First off [I began with straight voice and sincere tone; Ben took it hook,
line, and stinker], even
though many American couples are adopting foreign children (e.g., Chinese,
Romanian), there are still some other, very poor American couples (and singles)
who are giving up their own children for adoption, even to overseas couples
themselves.
So
there was this couple recently whose twin baby boys were adopted.
Unfortunately, the adoption agency split the twins, and each of them went to
different countries – different continents, in fact. One boy went to a loving
family in Egypt, and the other to a sweet, warm
(and wealthy) home in Mexico.
After a week or two, both adoptive families wrote to the poor
American couple to tell them they'd been so very brave and courageous to give
up their own flesh. The Egyptian parents related that they had named their boy
Amal (pronounced "A Mall"), and the wealthy Mexicans that his
twin brother, their other son, was now named Juan. But after this there was
very little, and then no, contact from either of these two welcoming families.
[I think something in my tone slipped, because at this point Ben
bent sideways at the waist, and slouched a bit – body-language saying that he
felt my hand on his ankle, about to firmly pull his leg, and hard.]
As I'm sure most adoptive
parents do, over the next few years the poor husband and wife – who'd had no
more children – began to wonder, then agonize, over how their boys might be
doing in their distant homes. But the adoption agency would not allow
communication between the couple and the boys (not until age sixteen or so),
though they did agree to relay the birth-parents' request for photos of the
twins to see how they were growing.
Shortly
afterward an envelope came from Mexico, with a sweet letter and
several beautiful pictures of their adopted son, now in school and doing very well.
But nothing was heard from the Egyptian family.
Weeks, then
months, passed without photo or word from Egypt. The twin boys' birth-mother
was beside herself, weeping about her other son, while clutching one of the
photos of his Mexican-adopted brother.
The boys' father tried to console his wife, but was baffled. He
gently pried his son's picture out of his wife's hand, flattened it back out on
their battered, wobbly table, and pointed out to his wife, "When you've
seen Juan, you've seen Amal."
Ben gave me that rare accolade: he slouched further, kind of
collapsing a bit more into himself, and limped slowly back to his desk.
But I gave him the opportunity
to release his agony about half an hour later. I walked into his cubicle (well,
leaned in), and said, "Well, after all, Ben, the shortest distance between
two puns…"
Ben looked at me in bafflement.
I made a rolling gesture with
one hand and continued encouragingly: "…is…"
He pondered a moment, then sat
up straight, his face bright, grin wide, and manner delighted. He finished:
"…a straightline!", accenting the first syllable
(correctly).
Thanks, Spider! This kept Ben from leaving the office a-wreck-nid…
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