Gift Giver Skewer

Papa thought it would be a good joke on Mama if he gave Uncle Sapporo a saccharometer.

Now, you've gotta understand Mama's a bit plump. This condition doesn't bother Pop at all, but he knows it bothers her. She bristles every time Uncle Sapporo, who resides in one of our upstairs bedrooms, teases her about her sugar intake. Mama loves anything sweet.

So when Papa saw the saccharometer in the store he knew it was the perfect gift. A gift made in heaven, you might say, since Uncle Sapporo takes great pleasure in measuring things. Uncle Sap's birthday is the day before Easter, so it was a timely gift as well.

Papa enjoys family spats. Says watching a good scrap is better than going to the movies. And cheaper, too.

Uncle Sap, for his part, was a bit puzzled when he first opened the gift. But he soon caught on after reading 140 pages of the instruction booklet. Three of those pages were in English. The rest were in French, Spanish and German. But Uncle Sap, he read them all. His face lit with pleasure at the mention of: "measures sugar content and is similar to a hydrometer."

That night as we sat down to supper, Uncle Sap, whose kidney-shaped head rested atop a tall cadaverous body, stabbed the meat with his saccharometer as the platter passed by him. He used the table napkin to wipe the saccharometer prong, then stabbed the potatoes. He squinted as he read the numbers on the indicator, then with a flourish napkinned the prong and stabbed the cauliflower.

You could see the distress on Moma's face, but she said not a word.

Uncle Sap stabbed the jello salad. The saccharometer pinged. He stabbed the fruit compote. The saccharometer beeped loudly. He stabbed the bread pudding. The saccharometer shriek was clangorous enough to shivaree a newly wedded couple.

Mama didn't serve dessert that night. Later, when we snuck down to the fridge, after Uncle Sap had gone to bed, we found Mama there ahead of us with a carton of ice cream in her hand.

On Easter morning, you could just about see the glee dancing in Popa's eyes as he rubbed his hands together in anticipation. He knew Mama's patience was just about worn thin.

Mama really puts on the ritz for Easter. The finest china. Her best linen tablecloth. The relatives arrived and one of them, Aunt Josephine, brought a guest. A rotund fellow with a healthy belly. She often brought a male escort, but this one was notable because he was Papa's boss.

Our eyes swiveled in Pop's direction, then schlepped over Uncle Sap's way. Sure enough, the saccharometer was right beside his plate.

My sisters helped Mama carry food to the table. It was quite a procession. After the main dishes were in place, it took another 15 minutes to bring in the pies, pastries, cakes, tarts, cookies, strudel, mousse, cannoli . . . .

A feast. After Blessing, we prepared to dig in. That is, until Uncle Sap's saccharometer pronged our food.

Now, Uncle Sapporo had spruced up for the occasion in a frock coat with long black tails which flapped wildly as he moved from plate to plate. The saccharometer pinged when it met the food of Papa's starchy relatives, and beeped at the plates of Mama's elitist kinfolk.

But it didn't blatantly shriek until it reached the plate of Papa's boss. Uncle Sap, ever an advocate of uncontaminated food, whisked the man's napkin from his lap and with a devilishly stylish flourish wiped the prong clean between attacks.

I'm sure it was quite by accident that Uncle Sap pronged the man's pot belly. But just the same, the ruckus that followed was catastrophic. The saccharometer screamed, the man howled, Uncle Sap's voice admonished, and the rest of the guests looked down their noses with appalled fascination.

Papa was awestricken and Mama smiled serenely.

Much, much later, after the hullabaloo settled, the guests departed, and the kitchen set to rights, we heard Mama say softly: "You know dear, that was more entertaining than going to a movie. And cheaper, too."
Gift Giver Skewer © 2005 Chaeli Sullivan