The Long Way Home 2.23.24

Two things weigh on my mind when deciding on a topic for my weekly column.

First, have I told this story before? 

As I get older, my eyesight and hearing are weaker. Worse than that, I never remember if I’ve told a story before, and I dread boring anyone with a repeat. 

Nothing used to irritate me more than hearing the same story told again and again by an older person. I should have been more sympathetic.

Second, should I be writing a scathing column criticizing someone in a position of power over us little people, or should I take a light-hearted and self-deprecating approach that might bring a smile to someone who needs it? 

So here’s a lighthearted approach. 

A Super Bowl joke I reposted boosted my presence on the Book of Face. I got lots of new followers. All by accident, my name appeared on all the reposts, and they went viral.

Those familiar with this version of Social Media know to share a post that makes you LOL; you click the share button, click share to feed, and go on to the next piece of nonsense on your screen.

A piece funny enough to share was a story about a guy who had Super Bowl tickets but didn’t realize his wedding was on the same day as the Big Game. He wanted someone to relieve him of the dilemma this caused him- football or wedding. He chose football in a comedic way.

When I shared it, Facebook used my name as the “poster” (not to be confused with “poster boy”). My share got more “Likes” than anything I’ve ever put on the site. 

One of the “likes” was from my old friend Ed, a retired physician living in Las Vegas. Ed is a big football fan and an even bigger Eagles fan. I asked him if he was going to the game, which was to be in the fair city where he and I used to meet for coffee at least once a week, and he wrote, “Ticket prices on the first level are $13,500. I will go to Europe for a week next time the Eagles play over there for less than half that.” 

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A regular reader the other day asked why my term of endearment for my life partner Becky is “The Bohunk.”

The word police write that “Bohunk” is an offensive word used for people from Eastern Europe. They claim it is a combination of the words BOhemian and HUNgarian.

Becky’s paternal grandparents traced their origin to Bohemia, a small republic that is now part of the Czech Republic. So, she is half Bohemian. 

Back in my working years, there was a radio show on KS95 during morning drive time featuring John Hines that I listened to while navigating a crowded 35W.

Hines is now the television face for the Blue Cross Blue Shield Medicare Advantage Plan, a product of a taxpayer-funded gift that keeps on giving that Congress gave the insurance industry during the reign of Bush II.

On the morning show, Hines’ cohost referred to his significant other as “The Bohunk.” Thinking that was clever, I started referring to Becky the same way.

She doesn’t refer to me as The Swede, which may not be as offensive to most, but she also doesn’t find my term of endearment offensive. 

She craves Grandma Pavek’s kolaches and Sauer Kraut with Dumplings, neither delicacy she’s yet to master. 

But she’s trying, and I love her to pieces.