Wiretap - Welcome to the Family

Episode Date: August 3, 2020

Adoption is all the rage amongst the rich and famous so Gregor encourages Jonathan to start a brood of his own. Plus a young couple argues about what to expect when they're expecting.

It's not just you. News in Canada and around the world is moving at an incredible pace, which is where we come in. I'm Jamie Poisson and I host Frontburner, Canada's most popular daily news podcast. And what we try to do is hit the breaks on a story that you actually want to know more about. So try us out. Follow Front Burner wherever you get your podcast, Front Burner, stories you want to follow five days a week. You're listening to Wiretap with Jonathan Goldstein on CBC Radio 1. Today's episode, Welcome to the Family, in which Josh meets his wife, Bananas Goldstein meets his dad, and silence meets its match. Hello.

I need to borrow your Russian English dictionary. Why do you need a Russian English dictionary? In every book on relationships I've ever read, communication is very important, so I'd like to be able to talk to my wife. Your wife? That's right. My wife speaks only Russian. She doesn't speak English. Why should she? Your wife? Yeah, my Russian wife, Olga. Your Russian wife, Olga.

Maybe if you repeat it another 17 times, it'll sink in. Yeah, that's right. I'm a married man. I mean, I'm not married yet. I'm pledged. I'm betrothed. I'm totally troved. What are you talking about? Do I have to spell it out for you? Can you speak? spell out a dollar sign? Wait, you're talking about getting a Russian mail-order bride kind of thing? No, that's not at all what I'm talking about. Why would you assume that? Well, because you're talking about Russian brides and dollar signs? I'm not sure what you don't understand. I've sold myself to a Russian family to become the spouse

of a Russian woman. You're going to be her Canadian mail-order groom. John, think of me as a drug mule, except instead of smuggling drugs, I'm smuggling love. That's really beautiful. The ladies have not been love in the J-Man, okay? Who's the J-Man? Even contextually you should figure out that's me. I haven't met that special someone, and it turns out that portly, freckled Canadian man are fetish objects.

Is that true? We're the sturgeon of Russia. We're going extinct over there, so they have to import us from overseas. So who is this Olga? Well, she's 65. She has orange hair. She's 65? 65 years old, and she's a recent widow. What did her husband die out?

By her own telling, let me see what she wrote here in her profile, she worked him to death. She's also happened to be a very attractive woman. Oh, is that so? Okay, I'm looking at a painting of her right now standing right next to Khrushchev. She's a very handsome woman. Well, actually, that's Khrushchev. All I know is that she's willing to pay big money. What do you call big money?

10,000 roubles, son. 10,000 roubles. Yeah, that's right. 10,000. That's about, okay, that's about $300 Canadian. and that's not even enough to buy you a playing ticket there. You know what, though? She's going to pay me more when I get there when I start working.

And, Tony, anyway, it's not about money. It's about love. Wait, hang on a second. What kind of work are you going to be doing exactly? I don't know, a million things. Olga lives on a farm. So, wait, you're going to be working the land. In Soviet Russia, land works you.

What does that mean? I don't know. I've been on my PlayStation 12 hours a day to get the hand calluses that I'm going to need. You're selling yourself for money to a woman that you've never met, that you only know from a painting, that you don't even share a common language with. John, you don't believe in love. I'm going to Russia, and there's nothing you can do to start me. You know what?

You know, you have control. I do. I'm not your little boy anymore. I'm grown up, and you can't stand it, can you? It burns you. look you do what you want to do you're darn tootin but i think you know love is a precious thing and i don't think it's something that you should be squandering so frivolously well you hmm i shouldn't have jumped at this is what you're saying you have to you value yourself

and hold out for something better is what i you know what this is actually this is the kind of concrete directed advice that i need from you right well good Why am I selling myself to this Quite possibly the lowest bidder out there? What are you talking about? John, I am a free agent, right? This is where I cash in, right? I'm in my prime right now.

An overweight, pasty, freckle-faced man such as myself? I can be raking in the dough. Okay, Josh. I need a better offer. There are amirs out there. Head tribesmen. There are shakes. A shake.

I would be the hit of the harem. I even play a mean tambourine, John. I have hair. extensions, and I do a fantastic veil dance. You do a veil dance. You know what? It's ironic because you're showing me a barely veiled sense of possibility right now. I'm quite frankly jealous.

All over the world, behind closed doors, millions of private domestic dramas are unfolding. Millions of private domestic dramas are unfolding. As the doors are shut to us, we will only ever know these dramas through acts of imagination. But today, we are being afforded a rare opportunity, a chance to eavesdrop through the door of an apartment where a young couple is having a heated discussion. The wife, five months pregnant, is washing dishes, while her husband, holding their two-year-old son, paces behind her. I mean, we've been through all this once already. Yeah, I know. We know what it's all about now.

We weren't going to be so uptight this time around. That was the whole idea, right? Yeah, I know. And now you're miffed. I'm not, miffed. Okay, really, I'm not. You know, when we talked last night, you agreed. Yes.

We even talked this morning. I told you I could still take the day off. Yes, you did. You were really sweet. And it wasn't lip service either. I mean, you know I would have. I'd have totally rescheduled everything. I thought we'd agreed it wasn't worth it, that it wasn't a big deal.

did we had it's just that all the women there to see dr s were there with their husbands right and i just i don't know i just i wonder what they thought about me being alone what my story was what story there is no story why are you telling me this now i'm just saying those women are probably having their first i mean it's not like us i mean we've been through all you're right you're right you're right i mean we had to get call into daycare The daycare gets pissed when he comes in late You know how they get Not to mention my meeting with Harley

I mean he's been impossible to pin down I know, I'm sorry So So Stop being cute, come on You're killing me Look, no I was calling you all day

I wanted to tell you in person And I wanted to tell you that I'm not telling you. Very funny. Well, you said you didn't care what the baby was as long as it was healthy. Yeah, that's true, but I...

Yeah, you said I don't care. Remember? You know what I meant. I mean, it's different now that you know. I can't not know if you know. Why? Well, you can't know something I don't know. This is ridiculous.

Oh, but there's a lot that I know that you don't know. Stop being silly. I'm not. Look, fun is fun, and now you're starting to make me upset. Come on, don't be upset. Is this how you want to remember what should be an exciting moment for us? You're playing f***ing head games with me?

Okay, I swear I'm not, okay? I'm not doing this out of spite. I'm not, I'm not. I just want it to be a surprise, okay? Like a fun surprise, just for you. I'm calling your parents. I haven't even told my parents. It's between me and the baby, okay?

It's our secret. Are you telling me you haven't told Leanne? Or your sister? No one. I'm serious. You're punishing me. Oh, my God, please, just stop. No, you are.

Because I didn't come with you to see Dr. S. Even though we'd agreed. I'm not punishing you, for God's sake. I offered to come. I just said it would be silly to reschedule everything with work. I know that. I always feel like I'm failing some test with you. There's no test.

This is just something that I want to keep it between me and the baby just for a while, okay? And I thought it would make you laugh, me making you wait like this. You used to find me funny. Funny, there's nothing funny here. You'd have thought that this was, like, just a great joke. Some joke, my wife won't even tell me whether I'm having a baby boy or girl. It doesn't matter, all right? It doesn't matter one bit until it does, and then you'll be surprised.

You like surprises. You do. I don't like this kind of surprise. Please, just... This is punishing. Okay, just trust me. Okay. I pray that child will have more sympathy for me than you do.

Won't hold every little mistake against me. Won't think everything I do is off by an inch. See the good that's in me. Maybe she will. We're having a girl. Hello? What's happening, Pappy? Oh, hey Gregor.

How's it going, Daddy-O? It's going okay. Can I tell you why I'm referring to you by fatherhood patronymes? Why? Because nothing makes me happier than to be surrounded by the faces of laughing children. And I start thinking, why is Johnny sad all the time? What's the matter with Johnny? Mm-hmm.

It occurs to me. He doesn't have someone to come home to at night when he takes off his backpack and drops it on the floor and takes out his empty tuna fish can from his lunch. can from his lunchtime? Well, how would I bring home empty tuna fish cans? Point it. What you need in your life is a little Johnny. Johnny the second.

You want me to have a child? Don't be ridiculous. Ethically, I can't support you having your own children. First of all, there's too many kids already. It's very hard to find a parking spot. Second of all, the last thing you want to do is pass on your jeans. What's wrong with my jeans? All you have left is the adoption route.

You want me to adopt a kid. Don't sound so surprised. This is what celebrities do. Celebrities do. Celebrities adopt as many kids as they can get their hands on. They go to Africa and they just scoop up kids in a vast net and they bring it home. Gregor, I'm not a celebrity. You're not a celebrity yet, but I'm just telling you. Bigger posse of children, bigger passel of celebrity. Ever heard of Brad Pitt. Why? Because he's got like 25 kids running around behind him all chanting, Brad Pitt, Brad Pitt, every time he gets out of the bathtub. He's not famous because he adopted kids. He's an actor. Imagine you got to go to the Grammys. Do you want them to be focused on just the shine? on your bald head when you walk down the red carpet? Or do you want them to be like,

oh, look, doesn't Bananas Goldstein look smashing in his tube top made by Gwyneth Paltrow's kid, Apple? Bananas Goldstein? What do you want to name your kid? Neil, Gabriel, Sandy? I mean, get out of here. You give them good, honest celebrity names. You need a name that's made for fame.

Look, Gregor, I have nothing against adoption, but adopting children isn't, you know, something that you do to get famous. Don't think of it as adopting children. Think of it as adopting your future pallbearers. Who is going to fold up to? your coffin lid and carry you off to a hole in the ground and give you some dignity in your burial. My 14 adopted

children? Exactly right. Who's going to take care of you when you're old and infirm and you can't reach the phone or your pills and you're laying on the floor going, help me, help me? That's when you're made kicks the bottle a little further away from your hands and watch you die in agony. Your kids, your adoptive kids, they're the ones who are like, oh, pop, pop, John John needs

his bottles? Gregor, listen, I appreciate your concern. I don't think I'm ready to adopt. I knew you'd Hamm and Haw, and I know you don't know what to do next, so I took the liberty of putting a woman in touch with you. She's the adoption rainmaker. What do you mean an adoption? Adoption's a long process. A paperwork? She can get you a family of four or a family of 14 by next week. You just say the word. Gregor, this really sounds illicit. It's nothing illicit. She runs an adoption brokerage

agency. She's got some kids that for one reason or another have been harder to place and she can get them to you faster and at a discount. Look, this is all moving very quickly. I mean, I Don't you. I should go. She's going to call you any minute. I don't know if you have a call waiting. She's calling me now? Yeah, I told her to get in touch. Stand by Papa, Johnny. Wait till your mother hears. Hi, Jonathan. It's Daphne calling from the agency. How are you? I'm okay. I think there's been a bit of a misunderstanding. I heard that you were looking to adopt.

Well, that's actually, strictly speaking, not... I think I have the perfect match for you. Yeah, I bet. He is extraordinarily excited to talk to you. I mean, he's here. He's just chomping at the bit. I think you guys are really going to hit it up. Let me just get him just a second.

No, no, Daphne. Chuckie! Chuckie! Get on the phone now! Jackie! Yeah, I've got it. Chuckie's phone! I've got it. I told you to pick up those dirty socks from the kitchen pool already.

Yeah, yeah. I'll think about later. Chuckie? Daddy? Is that you? Uh... Are you gonna be my new daddy? Well, I, actually, I just thought maybe we'd get to know each other a little bit first. You didn't want to commit?

I actually was... Not the kind of daddy you're going to be? Chuckie, be nice to the men. I am, be nice. Start acting adoptable for shit's sake. I am. So what do you want to know? Uh, gee, uh, where to start?

Why don't you tell me about your hobbies? What kind of stuff? What do you like to do for fun? Well, I like to sit and drink coffee and read the paper in the morning and do crosswords. Chuckie? I play squash. You sound pretty mature. Yeah.

How old are you? 28. You're 28. Fine, I'm 38. But I'm very youthful for 38. I'm sorry I thought I was going to be speaking with a kid looking to be adopted

You know like This again Like what do you want A little baby Nothing cute You can die for me if you want If you're into that If that's what you want I'll do it

Look I'm not necessarily looking for a baby But you're a full-grown man So I think I don't deserve parents Just because I'm like Technically an adult You know what it's like Not having anyone to put your report cards up at the fridge or tuck you eight at night.

Why do I have to not have that? It's just because I'm like 40? I thought you said you were 38. Technically, I'm 40. Chuck, I mean, I'm only a few years older than you. I mean, how can I be your parent? Age doesn't matter to me. I just want to be loved.

Like every other kid in the world. That's all I want. A family. I come home from school, in my book bag. Oh, there's someone at the door. Who is it? Daddy's home. Maybe that's you.

You come in and you're like, what did you do at school today? Did you draw that for me? Looks just like me. Okay. While mom sets the food out and we fight over the last chicken wing. And you say, I need it. I'm daddy.

And I say, just get your hands off it. Pig, you ate five. And we laugh. Covered at wings off. Okay, Chuck. And then mommy takes the hose, washes us both, and we're going to dry our clothes by lying in the sun, the backyard. Chuckie, let me just stop you. Okay, first of all, I don't even have a backyard.

Where do you live? Do you have a house? I live in an apartment. You have a car? I don't. I actually use the bus. You take the bus. Do you have a Blu-ray player?

I don't have a Blu-ray player. Oh, I should have known. This never works out. I have some creepy guys looking for a child. Calls me up. It doesn't even have a Blu-ray player. Well, there's more to parenting than, you know, having cars and television. Anyway, thanks for calling. I think I'll pass. Wait, excuse me? What do you mean by that? Listen, you seem like a great guy, but I'm not ready to make a commitment right now.

You're rejecting me. This isn't about you. It's about me. Thanks, though. Thanks for calling. Wait, hang on a second. Who else do you think is going to want to adopt a 40-year-old son? Who do you think you are? Maybe you should be adopted. I don't know what your parents did, but they're obviously, they failed. Do I want a failure taking my life in his hands? I don't think so. Thank you, but no thank you. Nassie, this guy's a loser. She calls back no one is available.

Huh, another loser, right? Yes, another one on that. Remember this phone number if it comes up again, Flaggings. If you're absolutely loving your summer read and don't want the book to be over, your experience doesn't actually have to end when you finish reading. I'm Matea Roach, and on my podcast bookends, I sit down with authors to get the inside scoop behind the books you love. Like, why Emma Donoghue is so fascinated by trains? Or how Taylor Jenkins read feels about being a celebrity author? You can check out bookends with you. Matea Roach, wherever you get your podcasts.

Unlike Lucky Chucky, the rest of us cannot choose our parents. We simply have to make the best of whatever we were dealt, resigning ourselves to the lack of backyard or the tasteless home cooking, or the constant parental chatter. Well, here's Scott Kravitz, with a story about enduring that, chatter on a long family road trip up the California coast. The car turns on to the 17-mile drive through Monterey. My sister Laura and I are sitting in the back seat with my parents up front.

We've been driving for several hours, and it's quiet, but the silence never lasts for long. My mother hates silence. Look at those trees, she says. Don't they have so much personality? Nobody answers, because none of us is sure to whom the question was directed. Of course, we all know it was directed at whomever would respond. This latest observation of hers, like her previous question, what color do you feel, came deep out of left field,

and will remain in left field, unplayed, as the grass grows high around it. Wasn't Hearst Castle interesting, she asks? We have just visited the popular tourist spot down the coast, and my mother has been trying to make it a point of conversation since. Let's all take turns saying our favorite part of the tour. Laura? I don't know, my sister replies. Well, just choose something, my mother presses.

I don't know, she says, the pool? And? And what, my sister replies. You asked our favorite thing, and I said it. Okay, fine, my mother says, throwing up her hands. I just wish I knew why I'm the only one in this family who talks. It was a good question, and one I couldn't answer. Perhaps the rest of us had just gotten lazy over the years.

There's no pressure, no awkward silence, when someone else is made much more uncomfortable by the lack of conversation than you are. Unfortunately, to my mom, music is no substitute for talking, and the radio remains off as we all stare out our windows at the Cyprus along the highway. At this point, perhaps in response to a physical prod, my father speaks. Anyone know what they want for dinner? he asks. Pizza, I say. McDonald's, my sister says.

We give these answers without hesitation, relieved as we are to be asked something that doesn't ensnare and follow-up questions. Most conversations with my father have been this way, efficient and warm without being threatening. Emotional curiosity has never been his strength. Our few obligatory father-son conversations over the years had been like trying on a tight wool sweater, squirmed out of as quickly as possible. His one safe sex talk with me didn't last longer than the red light at Sunset and Barrington. Uh, Scott, he began. I don't know what you're doing these days, but I hope you're being safe.

I am, I said. Okay then, he said, and the light turned green. Years later, my father would surprise me by casually claiming that he had stopped eating lobsters after he learned that they made for life. It was a surprise, not only because I knew how richly he enjoyed the taste of lobster, but because it revealed a romantic side to him that I would not be able to understand for years. We all fool ourselves into thinking we've figured out our parents. For the most part, my father has served as the perfect foil to my mother.

He is the straight man in her 70s TV variety show. He is the captain to her to kneel. there is the saying that in every relationship love is never equal one person always loves more deeply than the other my parents showed me that one person always talks more than the other in the car my father is quiet again scanning for signs indicating our hotel it's getting late in the day the sun is nearly touching the horizon looking old and red shining just bright enough that you can look right into it with without crying. My mother makes up a song. There's a tree in the valley where no one dares to go. For when you're there, you lose your hair. And the da-da-da-da-da-da.

She'd been working on it for the last 40 miles. It was one of those outbursts, a mixture of excitement and frustration that had become a source of entertainment for all of us. During the trip, I had developed a game with my sister. Every time my mother stopped talking, we would count off the seconds on our fingers. Once she spoke again, we would go back to zero and begin again at the next pause. We rarely needed both hands. It isn't long before my mother turns around and catches on to what we're doing.

She blushes and faces forward, seeming truly embarrassed. I realize that my teasing has gone too far. Fine, she says, I'm not going to talk any more. She sounds hurt. I stare guiltily at the back of her head. The silence drags on for nearly 50. You kids don't appreciate me. Pause, 13 seconds.

I don't know why I even bother. Pause, 11 seconds. I am never talking again. Pause, eight seconds. I'm back to counting on my fingers. She glances over her shoulder when she hears us laughing and sees my hands back up in the air. the air. You don't appreciate me, she says, turning forward, but I can hear the smile in her voice

because I do appreciate her, and she knows it. This is just my way of showing it. If not for my mother's insistence on conversation, if not for her guileless pestering, who knows where I would have ended up? If not for the years that she had sat by my bed, asking me over and over, what's wrong? What's wrong? Until I finally broke down sobbing. How long would the poison and anger of youth have built up within me? What kind of person would I be now? My mom talked not to hear herself, but to draw me out. And today, when I brazenly count the seconds on my fingers, I am still grateful that I rarely get past ten, because I fear the day that I will. I want to beg her, Mom, please don't stop talking. Don't ever stop. I hate the silence, too.

and Scott Kravitz reading his story, Silence. For more of Scott's short stories, visit Scottcravitz.com. You also heard Alexander Caudrella and Ellie Moon, reading a one-act play by Jonathan Goldstein. Wiretap is produced by Jonathan Goldstein with Mira Bertwin Tonic and Crystal Duhame. For more CBC podcasts, go to cBC.ca.ca slash podcasts.