However, at some point it began to grow on me and now, like the fine old wine that it is, Priscille and I are able to enjoy some of its reruns and to enjoy the skillful writing and acting behind this show.
A couple of nights ago, we were watching one of the episodes featuring a three-way interplay between Raymond (the dad), Debra (the mom), and Ally (the oldest child).
There are only a few things that Ray thinks are important in his life: Writing his sports column for Newsday, going out with the boys, playing golf, and keeping the peace between his wife Debra and his mother Marie. He is successful with his writing, but usually bungles up everything else in his efforts to please everyone and, therefore, no one.
Every once in a while, what he thinks will be an easy two-foot putt turns out, much to his dismay, to be more complicated. Such was the case in a recent rerun, when Debra was about to speak to her prepubescent daughter Ally about the facts of life. One day, as she sat on the living room couch with Ray, Debra mentioned that he never really was part of speaking with Ally about more serious matters, and that he probably couldn’t handle this topic with Ally.
Well, that was all that Ray could bear. Thinking himself to be a man for all seasons, he rose from his seat and was about to go right upstairs to have a discussion with Ally about the birds and the bees, whereupon Debra says hold on, you can’t just go up and do that, you need to be prepared.
So Ray spends some time to get ready. With an armful of books which he has pored over on this matter, he later walks up to Ally’s room and, with much parental pride, enters it, sits by the bed and awkwardly, yet successfully, introduces the subject to his daughter. You know, Ally, I’d like to talk to you about how you got here – all about babies.
But, to Raymond’s dismay, Ally has no interest in the “how-to” of getting to this planet. No sir. What she says she wants to know is not how I got here. She is too perceptive for that – way beyond the process of the thing.
What Ally – with the clear, impeccably innocent, yet paradoxically wise and intuitive thinking that a child will put forth from time to time, says to her dad, I don’t want to talk about sex. What I want to know is, “Why did God put us here?”
Ray, the always over-confident dad becomes completely unraveled. Dumbfounded, he pointlessly reaches for his books on babies looking for an answer that isn’t there. Confronted with a question that few can truthfully answer in a convincing manner, let alone bumbling Raymond, he goes into a feigned coughing fit and quickly exits the room, unable to discuss one of the most basic, yet complex of life’s inquiries.
I liked the question mainly because it came from a child. Ally assumes that there is a basic truth encapsulated in her reflection, “Why did God put us here?” Namely, that there is a God. Having settled upon that first premise in her mind, Ally goes beyond it: she wants to know what God’s gig is for mankind. So tell me dad, just what is it? Why are we here? Tell me Dad. What is that reason, anyhow?
Her question is one that many highly educated adults who are well in control of their lives (at least, that’s what they assume) don’t pause to ask, because – well, you know – that’s just too childish a question for us, the cognoscenti.
Scientists, theologians, philosophers, priests, rabbis, and others have been wrestling with that issue for centuries.
But perhaps one of the plain meanings of the why-are-we-here question can be inferred by observing the face of love radiating from a mother who has just given birth, and whose baby softly rests against her breast for the first time. Another similar clue originates from a song in Les Misérables: “To love another person is to see the face of God.”
Thanks for reading. Enjoy the days ahead.
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