So we spent Easter dinner at my mother’s. It was the usual affair: food from three cultures (African American, England, and Jamaica); every meat group well represented; bouts of loudness, crudeness, and food throwing. Not once did it cross our minds to go out to eat. I know, why would we when we have such a food spread. Sure, there’s that, but there’s also the fact that we Broadduses have a long and proud tradition of finding ways to get kicked out of restaurants. I hesitate to go as far as to say we revel in it, but I can’t think of too many restaurants that don’t have a “Do Not Admit” poster of us hanging somewhere.

Sadly, we’ve been compared to The Klumps. Like any good children, me and my siblings blame our parents for this turn of character. Before you judge us, consider that our behavior has long been conditioned. From early on, we went to all you can eat Chinese restaurants with my mom bringing her special “going out to eat” purse. What do you mean all ladies don’t have purses lined with a freezer bag? You don’t know a good time until you’ve had a Chinese wait staff yelling “You go now!” at you.

We recall with great lament our time at Ryan, an all you can eat steak place, and our infamous “how much can you drink” contest involving their free refills … that tragically turned into the orange soda puke-a-thon. Or going to the Texas Roadhouse where they keep buckets of peanuts on the table and you throw the shells on the floor (like they’d never heard that many nut jokes before).

I’d like to say that our being kicked out of Ponderosa was our crowning moment. I can sum up the incident in three words: Porno Masterpiece Theater. My premise was what if porno movies starred Shakespearean trained actors. There’s nothing like yelling porn movie dialogue with the stentorian projection of a stage actor. In a restaurant filled with the after church crowd.

However, none come close to our being kicked out of Mountain Jacks.

Now, the occasion for our gathering was my father’s 50th birthday. Since he never expected to make it that long, we decided to make a time of it. We rented a limo and thought “what could possibly go wrong if we go to a nice restaurant?” Well, the conversation was fairly typical and we were our usual loud selves. Some brain trust decided to arrange us as one long table, which had my father on one end, my grandfather on the other, and me, alas, in the middle. My grandfather picks that moment to let everyone know that he had a new erectile dysfunction device that was working out well for him and, as the old joke goes, he was telling everyone. It involved some sort of pump device installed (this was before the little blue pill) and let’s just say there’s nothing like having your 75 year old grandfather yell from down a table: “Just three pumps and I’m ready to go!”

Ah, good times.


Wow, what a great segueway into my latest columns from Intake:Recycling does matter” andWhither Chastity.”


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