Adding a Little Levity: Essays to Lighten a Tough Day - Softcover

Licalzi, Robert J.

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1944515550 ISBN 13: 9781944515553

Publisher: Blue Star Press, 2018

Synopsis

"In today’s world of uncertainty and weighty decisions, Adding A Little Levity, is the perfect bedtime read. A chapter a night will leave you smiling, as you drift off into a peaceful sleep. The problem is—you’ll be chuckling in your dreams." — Sally Fernandez, Author of the "Max Ford Thriller" Series.

Make someone smile and you have done well; make someone laugh out loud, and you have achieved something greater. This witty, wry collection of essays takes the reader from a blue-collar boyhood in Queens across the river to cutthroat Wall Street, across the seas to Japan and Puerto Rico, and back again. Reality and hyperbole collide in tales of life’s universal and painful experiences—the big interview, meeting your future in-laws, and travel debacles galore—where to "add a little levity" is to survive, and thrive!

About this title

About the Author

Robert J. Licalzi was born and raised in Queens, New York, where his fondest childhood memories were the invention of color television and his first day as a teenage when his father bought an air conditioner to cool the family apartment after 12 sweltering summers. After graduating from Queens College, Bob began working for an international bank. A few years later, in the late 70's, the bank assigned Bob to sunny Puerto Rico at a time when sunblock did not have numbers. There, Bob met and married Diane. After job assignments in Tokyo, London and New York, and after having four children, Bob retired from the bank, moved the family to Puerto Rico, and learned the importance of SPFs (Sun Protection Factors). Bob has always enjoyed writing, particularly essays. He has written hundreds of opinion pieces, had many published as letters to the editor in various newspapers, briefly ran a blog called Puerto Rico Commentary which presented his views of Puerto Rico's economic policies, and compiled a few hundred letters written to family and friends in Keeping Sentiments Alive (not published). More recently, he began writing humorous essays, and was encouraged to publish (Adding a Little Levity) mostly by his children who, while still on allowance, found every one of them funny.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

I grew up in a family of modest means; my brother, sister, and I learned that nothing was to be wasted, particularly food. Even the hungriest dog would be disappointed looking for food scraps in our garbage. For us, “leftovers” was the name of a meal, no different from a bologna sandwich or a meatloaf (and we all fervently hoped the “meat” in the loaf was beef). We accepted that our low-priced chopped meat contained 35 percent filler―ground bones, cartilage, knuckles generously seasoned with aged offal. It was the 65 percent labeled “meat” we feared.
I remember that by my early teenage years, the quality of our chopped meat improved, perhaps because my father received a salary increase. Although the “meat” portion was as mysterious as ever, and the percentage of filler was the same, it was now ground up more finely. After that, we chewed our meat with greater confidence, knowing that those more-than-occasional, pebble-sized, tooth-chipping, bone fragments were no longer lurking.
We had difficulty containing our excitement surrounding the semi-annual trip to a restaurant. We never knew precisely when this momentous occasion would occur, but my brother and I could deduce that it was a couple of weeks away when our meal portions at home were reduced by half. And when the half-portions were replaced by gruel, we knew it was just a matter of days.
Not wishing to waste his hard-earned money, my dad made sure we were sufficiently hungry so as to fully appreciate our dining-out experience. Because my mom and sister never finished their restaurant meals, and my father had a no-leftovers policy, my dad, brother, and I knew we would have to clean their plates as well. For my father, a doggy bag was not an option. As a matter of honor, we had to eat everything we ordered. He would no sooner skip out of the restaurant in a tutu with a tulip in his ear than he would walk out of there with a doggy bag. “And besides,” my dad would say, putting a finer point on it, “We don’t own a dog.”
Finally, the day arrived. My brother and I were assisted by my mom and younger sister, weakened as we were by the previous period of undernourishment and unable to walk unaided. As we arrived at the restaurant, they helped us to the table, propping us up in our chairs, hoping we wouldn’t embarrass them by tipping over. At this point, we followed to the letter, the restaurant routine set by our dad years before. Before any conversation commenced, the first order of business was to consume the entire bread basket. This was perfectly okay for my brother and me, given that we lacked a sufficient amount of stored glycogen to power the mouth and throat muscles required for speech.
Partway through appetizers, though, our ravenous appetites were unleashed. Our pallor was erased, and we gazed covetously at the plates of my mom and sister. Dad ordered a third basket of bread and another family-sized dish of vegetables. Appetizers finished, we were giddy with anticipation as we watched the generous main courses being served to tables around ours. At last, our meals arrived, and we were not disappointed. Huge chunks of fish or meat were accompanied by GMO-sized baked potatoes hidden beneath an improbable amount of butter and sour cream. With a predatory eye on my sister’s plate, I told her that she couldn’t finish her meal in ten sittings much less one. Dad ordered a fourth basket of bread. We dug in.
About three-quarters through my meal, common sense and a pronounced ache in my stomach told me I’d had enough, but not willing to disappoint my dad, I dared not slow down. With the knowledge that I would also have to eat whatever my sister left, I stopped taunting her and instead began to encourage her to eat more. After a few more agonizing bites of my own, I resorted to begging. I offered to carry her book bag to school every day for two weeks.
Feeling like Joey Chestnut at hotdog number sixty, I finished what was left on my plate, my sister’s plate, and the remaining rolls in the fourth bread basket. The ensuing state of gluttonous lassitude was not going to be eased by loosening a belt or unbuttoning a button or two. Involuntarily, conversation stopped, movement ceased, and even breathing abated as our brains shut down all bodily functions not directly related to the digestive challenge at hand. When my sister expressed a possible interest in ordering dessert, which she was unlikely to finish, I had just enough energy to whisper to her that such a decision would put her collection of stuffed animals in grave danger. She passed on dessert.
As we struggled to lift our distended bodies from the table, rising unsteadily, toppling our chairs as we stood, my brother and I once again leaned on my mother and sister for help getting to the car, which now seemed much farther away than I had remembered.

About this edition

• Publisher: Blue Star Press
• Publication date: 2018
• ISBN 10: 1944515550
• ISBN 13: 9781944515553
• Binding: Paperback
• Number of pages: 200