by G. Jack Urso
Son: Hey Pop, want to hear a joke?
Father: You mean what you got your college degree in?
Mother: He could have been an accountant, or maybe a lawyer, but nooo . . .
Father: Big man, huh? Majoring in “Sociology.” He was going to change the world. How’s the job at Amazon going?
Mother: Your Aunt Katherine, she could have gotten you a job at the post office. Benefits . . . a pension . . .
Son: Amazon has benefits too, mom.
Mother: I don’t care what they say, the post office is always going to be here. Amazon, who knows?
Son: That’s not true Mom!
Mother: Don’t talk to your mother that way!
Son: I’ve got a right to live my own life!
Father: Not in MY house you don’t!
Mother: Your house! My name is on that mortgage too, don’t you forget. If it wasn’t for my parents there wouldn’t have been a down payment and we would still be living on Flatbush Ave. Is that what you want? For us to be living in a third floor walk-up on FLATBUSH!
Son: Yeah, is that what you want for us Pop? For us to live on Flatbush?
Mother: You stay out of this mister college boy! This is between your father and me!
Father: You’ve been talking about me!
Father: Don’t talk back! You want a fresh one? [raises his hand]
Mother: [crying] 18 hours of labor, for what? He’s not even engaged.
Father: Maaa . . .
Mother: [still crying] Your brother Danny, he has two children now — our grandchildren — and he’s two years younger than you!
Son: With two different woman in two years, and he started at 16, and he doesn’t pay child support!
[Mother sobs louder]
Father: Look at what you did to your mother. YOU’RE BREAKING HER HEART! Is this the way a mother gets treated by her son?
Mother: My son, my son . . . I DON’T HAVE A SON!
Son: Ma! I love you Ma!
Mother: Words, just words!
Son: I have to get out of here. [walks out the door]
Father: Go on Mr. Big Shot. Get out!
Mother: If you go by Rappazzo’s Bakery pick up some cannoli.
Father: And rugelach. Pick up some rugelach.
Mother: Tell Mrs. Rappazzo I said hello.
Father: Here’s some money
Son: That’s a lot more than I’ll need.
Father: [whispering] Keep the change. Don’t tell your mother.
Mother: He’s a nice boy.
Father: I wonder what the joke was?
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