Ep. 9: Sid's Open Secret.
Guess who's coming to dinner...
Back to Episode #1 • Table of Contents • Family Tree
The Man Who Woke up the Buddha is the story of a guy named Sid who wakes up from a stroke and realizes he's the Buddha, even though he knows almost nothing about Buddhism.
Previously: Sid told his grandchildren the story about what happened the night of his stroke and how he became the Buddha.
The Buddha was part of a long lineage of dead poets, politicians, warriors, and holy men and women who, over the years, had temporarily set up shop in Sid’s boundless imagination.
For friends and family, his ability to, what they considered, “impersonate” these characters were simply Sid being Sid. Everyone heard his descriptions of what it was like within the context of their own experiences or, in the case of his more drug-addled friends during college, in the context of their LSD experiences—not quite grasping how synesthetic they were for Sid.
He had pretty much given up trying to explain the difference. Because whenever he said something serious and sincere it sounded like a parody of someone being serious and sincere. People just laughed or told him about a book they’d read by a person who went into trances, was possessed by multiple personalities, spoke in tongues, experienced past lives, and/or had some clues about future ones.
But Sid didn’t go into trances. He didn’t speak in tongues (except for the occasional lighthearted bon mot, locutione, or sayonara) As far as past or future lives, he figured his present one was plenty enough to deal with for now.
It was more like being the landlord for a bunch of transient tenants, many of whose names he didn’t even know. His subconscious was simply hardwired to the mythic.
For the most part, his visitors seemed content to just hang out for a little while and see what life was like these days—combining what they saw through Sid eyes with their own ancient vision. Maybe give him a little nudge from time to time.
Sometimes, admittedly, they gave him more than a little nudge. There was the time Agamemnon confronted him in a coffee shop and tried to set him straight on Helen of Troy’s real mission in life (and helped a kid on the other side of the room cheat in a chess game while he was at it).
And when Melissa and Abbey were little, the biblical Noah’s youngest son Ham managed to convince Sid that they needed a bomb shelter in the basement. But the basement leaked, he forgot the combination to the lock, and they had to move anyway when Jake was born because they needed a larger place. At which point, Sid began to realize that his friends might possess the wisdom of the ages but not necessarily any investment savvy.
But the most notable visitation took place when the medieval Spanish knight el Çid, convinced a Portuguese Waterdog to jump out of a car and take off for Sid's house at a breakneck pace, and proceed to move in. After a little research into Portuguese Waterdogs, Sid found himself crossing the nomenclature border into Spain and christened the new family member Babieça—the name of el Çid’s horse. Which the kids shortened to Bieça. The name meant “foolish.”
Sid didn’t lack empathy for his visitors. While they could yell or scream or stamp their feet (because of some perceived slight in how they were seen back then or how history remembered them today) they usually couldn’t get him to yell or scream or stamp his feet. Except at baseball games. As long as they were rooting for the same side.
And, while they could easily get him to laugh, he did not always see what was so funny.
Most importantly, he was always able to go about his daily business. Even when one was pulling on him insistently, he could ignore him or her at no peril to either of them.
He’d walk out of the persona as seamlessly as he’d walked in, saying to Di, “Mania is a terrible thing to waste.”
But, the Buddha seemed to have something more intimate in mind.
Sid just wasn’t sure what.
And even the Buddha was making it up as he went along.
One of Sid’s challenges was that he often couldn’t tell who exactly was wandering in looking for a free room in his hippocampus. Just that they were, say, a Chinese emperor, Renaissance painter, Biblical prophet, or even a Salem witch.
There was some peasant boy in South America who, with very mixed feelings, led a revolt against his master and was later captured and executed by the same master with equally mixed feelings.
Then there was that medieval doctor—the alchemist who wasn’t actually trying to turn raw metals into gold coins but, rather, into golden health.
An early Samurai warrior appeared from time to time, roaring through, sword in hand, whenever Sid happened to come across a poster for some martial arts class or a group doing t’ai chi on the village green. Fortunately, El Çid, who enjoyed stopping by to visit Bieça, always seemed to manage to reason with the guy. They’d go have some grog or whatever warriors drink together and the Spaniard would send the Japanese guy packing.
Sometimes, of course, the clues were really obvious, like when he went to a football game and the coach’s name triggered an obsession with strategy that he later realized was inspired by the Byzantine warrior Belisarius.
Once, when Di prevailed upon him to go to a Midnight Mass on Christmas, he saw a young girl transform herself into the figure of a 13th Century nun. For, not only were his friends able to do brief resurrections within him, sometimes he’d see the reflection of others in unwitting strangers.
Every kid has to deal with the ignominy of introducing friends to dads who are totally clueless or, even worse, dads who try to act cool. But Sid was a walking talking third rail of parenthood, because you couldn’t know who he’d be from moment to moment.
Years later, when reflecting on the agonies and ecstasies of being raised by their father, the three of them agreed that the worst was the time Jake’s beautiful blonde new girlfriend came over, and—with a little encouragement from Marilyn Monroe (who’d always loved the film)—Sid began to recreate Eli Wallach’s Guido trying to console Clark Gable’s Gay Langland in The Misfits:
“She's crazy. They're all crazy. You try not to believe it cause you need them. She's crazy. You struggle, you build, you try, you turn yourself inside out for 'em but its never enough. So they put the spurs to you - I know, I got the marks. I know this racket, I just forgot what I knew for a while…”
At which point Sid only made it worse by turning to Jake’s new girlfriend and saying, “How come you got some trust in your eyes, like you were just born?”
“You’re funny, Mr. Sid,” the girl said as Jake maneuvered her out the door before his dad started getting up close and personal with any other Hollywood stars from the ‘50s.
But that was nothing compared to when Sid and Abbey walked into a Starbucks and, seeing all the people working on laptops or staring at their cell phones, he spouted, “Let my people go!”
Abbey, who had been looking forward to a hot chocolate and scone, turned on her heels and walked out, acting like she had nothing to do with the loudmouth. Sid couldn’t help it…for the next few days he saw every human endeavor as a form of slavery—workers enslaved to their jobs, disconsolate spouses unable to escape tortured marriages, and everyone chained to the latest technology.
His eyes often turned into such piercing take-no-prisoners daggers, Di, unflappable as ever, suggested he start wearing shades so as not to scare little children. At first, he thought he might have been possessed by some kind of Moses coming down from the mountain thing until, a couple of days later when—dressed in a ragged hoodie, ripped jeans, and old sneakers—he had screamed at Jake during a Pee-Wee football game, “If you’re tired keep going…”
This was the last straw for Abbey who was standing with him on the sideline, and said, “Dad, I’ve read about Harriet Tubman and, believe me you’re no Harriet Tubman.”
Sid learned early on that having children who actually paid attention in school—something he’d never considered doing—came in handy when he found himself speaking on behalf of people whose names he couldn’t remember or never knew in the first place.
At dinner, he’d quiz them by providing whatever characteristics or snippets of stories he had intuited from the voices in his head, hoping they could identify them.
One of the more memorable visitations happened at the dinner table in the ‘80s. Abbey and Melissa were still in their teens, Jake was their insufferable 8-year-old little brother, and someone was whispering medieval fire and brimstone in Sid’s ear.
“For one dollar,” Sid intoned in full TV game-show host baritone, “What was the name of the most famous Inquisitor in the Middle Ages.”
Melissa took advantage of her big sister Abbey's characteristic cautiousness and slammed her right hand on the table so hard, her knife jumped. “Torquemada,” she blurted out. “He tortured the Jews.”
“For another quarter, why the hell did he torture them?”
Abbey hit the table fast, but still a split second behind her wiry and wily sister. “Because he thought everyone should be Catholic,” Melissa said.
“So he tortured everyone else?” Sid reached over to the bowl of mashed potatoes and threw a large spoonful on his plate.
Abbey had had enough. She hit the table before he even finished the question. “No,” She said definitively. “He kicked the Jews out unless they converted. The Muslims, too.”
“She has no idea,” Torquemada mumbled, deciding he better help Sid set these kids straight.
“So would he torture them if they confessed?” Sid cut off a big slab of butter and scraped it into a small hollow he’d made in the mashed potatoes.
Abbey slammed again—it was a tie, but he nodded to her since she had the louder slam. “Dad, are these still 25 cent questions? I think the harder ones should be worth $1.”
“Haven’t decided,” he said, taking the gravy boat and pouring some into the hollow. He found himself oddly pleased by both his daughter’s question and the somewhat-sinister oiliness of the potatoes. “Answer the question or I’ll give your little sister a chance.”
“No,” Abbey started slowly as she tried to figure out if there was any wiggle room in the negotiation, “Here’s the deal…” she sighed.
“What’s the deal?” Her father snapped, taking a forkful of mashed potato-butter-gravy and closing his eyes as he rolled it around in his mouth. Perfect. “Did he torture them or not?”
“Is that another question?” Melissa asked, seeing an opportunity for some easy money.
Di laughed, “Talk about a taste of your own medicine, Sid. Have some meatloaf with your gravy, Jake. You’re just as bad as your father.”
“How do you know this stuff anyway?” Sid asked the girls.
“Dad…surprise…we…go…to…school…” Melissa said, loading the statement with the kind of dripping sarcasm that’s embedded in teenage genes. After a meaningful pause, she continued: “It was around the time of Columbus. Torquemada said all the Jews and Muslims had to convert or leave.”
“Ah, the good old days,” Torquemada snickered.
“Did Ferdinand and Isabella know about this?” Sid demanded.
“Oh probably. I don’t know,” Abbey said impatiently. “They must have. Anyway, the story is that some people stayed and pretended to convert but secretly still did their own rituals.”
“They were called conversos,” Melissa butted in.
“Doesn’t count…that was part of my question…”
Sid put down his spoon so he could reach in his pocket and grab some singles. He handed two to each of them.
“Hey,” Abbey objected. “She should only get a buck 25 max. I get two.”
“No way!” Melissa objected. “I knew that answer too.”
Sid glowered at them briefly. But he was distracted. Annoyed. Or someone was annoyed. That Torquemada guy. What was he was annoyed about?
“Why aren’t there ever any football questions?” Jake muttered, watching his big sisters take the bills.
“Who did Y.A. Tittle play for?” Sid threw out, like a bread crumb to a duck close to shore.
“New York Giants,” Jake slammed his hand on the table and shouted out. Even his sisters laughed as Sid handed him a quarter.
“Ask me another,” Jake said enthusiastically, but Sid had taken his knife and speared a piece of meatloaf. The kids didn’t notice, but Di paused, her fork hovering momentarily in front of her open mouth. Sid? Spearing meatloaf now? She’d be less surprised if he picked it up and ate it with his bare hands.
Sid picked the piece of meatloaf off the knife with his bare hand, popped it in his mouth and smiled at her.
Next Episode: Sid, Di, and his friendly oncologist Doctor Jay, and the Buddha discuss his rare cancer and the technicalities of road biking.