Experiencing Sedaris

I met David Sedaris before I read anything by him.

My freshman year of college he came to campus and everyone was crazy excited. Still trying to fit in, I bought one of his books and faked enthusiasm for his talk. After hearing about his dad’s affinity for eating rotten fruit, I had to admit the man was pretty funny. Certainly enough to continue my sheep imitation and stand in the very, very long line to get my brand new, never opened copy of Naked signed.

Forty-five minutes later, Sedaris was asking me what I wanted to be when I grew up and what my last name was. As he doodled a creepy pumpkin in my book, he chanted, “Jay-ya-raa-jun. Doc-tor Jaya-ra-jun. Dr. Jayarajan I have a banana stuck up my ass.” Then he shut my book and handed it back to me with, “Yup. I see it. I think you'll make a great doctor.”

I may not have ended up a doctor, but I definitely still have a favorite author.

After a brief love affair with all things Sedaris in my early 20's, I kind of forgot about him. A few weeks ago I caught his interview on The Daily Show and was reminded of his existence.

I have a large stack of New Yorker magazines that I've been meaning to read (Read: probably will never read), and after his interview I looked through all their table of contents till I found an article by Sedaris, “Company Man”.

Not too much had changed. Sure he was older and writing about middle-aged shenanigans, which as he'd probably agree, aren't nearly as thrilling as childhood or early twenties shenanigans. Still, his bemused, nasally voice carried me pleasantly through everything that’s wonderful about being a middle-aged married man with a house that has guest rooms.

Then, in the last few column inches he let’s it drop matter-of-factly that the way Hugh, his partner, speaks of his deceased father in voices “still brittle and reverential, full of loss and longing” reminds him of the way he and his sisters used to talk of his mother now deceased for 22 years. Before he ends his story, he pauses mid-tidying of the guest bedroom his sisters used during their visit and takes a moment to hug the sheets to his chest before he does the laundry. All of this is like a heavy punch to the gut.

I'd forgotten that as much as Sedaris has made me laugh, he’s equally made me cry. I might not have found much in common with him before these short inches, and I haven't yet had to experience the kinds of loss he describes, but I know it’s coming. Probably sooner than I’d like.

So unexpectedly, I found myself sitting next to Sedaris on that bed imagining the sheets I will soon hug and experiencing the flashbacks to childhood and family that he likely remembered in those few moments. Long after he moved on to the finish his chores, I still sat with all the nostalgia.