COLUMN: ‘Everybody loves Raymond’ a page out of my life

Television scares me.

No, it’s not because of PBS – they finally banned Teletubbies for its obvious links to terrorist organizations. Tinkiwinkie had all the markings of a person/animal/marshmallow/TV antenna on the verge of violently snapping. It’s not because of reality TV either, even though more Americans can name who the last five American Idol winners are but couldn’t name the last five U.S. presidents. Now that’s a sad commentary. It’s not even because I figured out that Miley Cyrus and Hannah Montana are the same person but with different hair colors – Disney was really throwing me for a loop on that one.

Television scares me because when I watch it, I see my life.

One of the most popular shows on television is “Everybody Loves Raymond,” which chronicles the life of a man named Raymond, who lives in New Jersey with his family. Sounds like a simple enough sitcom, like “Full House,” minus three dads, a twin masquerading as a single person and Bob Sagat’s desperate attempts at humor.

I’m a big fan of “Everyone Loves Raymond,” though for a long time I couldn’t figure out exactly why I liked it so much. One day it finally dawned on me: This show is the story of my life. No, really, it is.

First off, Raymond is the favored son in his family. Me too. This may be because I’m the only son in my family, but nonetheless I am still the favored son, and most likely the favored child, though I doubt my parents would openly admit to that, just like Raymond’s parents refuse to admit they like him more than Robert.

Second, like Raymond, I am a sports writer for a newspaper that no one seems to read or know about. Yeah, it’s pretty much the dream job. I get paid to watch sports, read about sports and write about them. I get into games for free, eat the free food, sit courtside and rub shoulders with athletes. Notice how you rarely see Raymond work? It’s because sports writers rarely do work – it’s an HGH (the sports writers union) policy.

Next, I am married to a beautiful woman named Debra that somehow puts up with my crazy antics. Like in the show, my wife is a short woman with the ability to sling sarcastic insults faster than John Wayne can draw his trusty sidearm. Another similarity to the show is how my wife hits me every five seconds. Seriously, watch the show and see how many times Raymond gets hit. Now substitute my face (if you forget what it looks like, jump to the end of this column – hey that sounded like a “choose your own adventure thing”) and feel pity for how often I get beat, though I’m sure I don’t deserve it.

And like the show, my wife is considerably smarter than me, and I get in constant trouble for doing stupid things. What’s so wrong with using a curling iron as a light saber? How was I supposed to know the little clips she puts in her hair really are for hair and not to close potato chip bags with? And who says arm wrestling 10-year-olds and beating them isn’t legitimate?

In the show, Raymond’s in-laws are wealthy, culturally-refined people, much like my wife’s parents. The question with them is not, “So, what’s new with you?” It’s, “So, how was Paris?” It’s always discouraging when the response is, “Being away from Paris for two weeks is so rough.” Though, unlike the show, I get along well with my in-laws, and they aren’t raging alcoholics, though that would make our seemingly biweekly get-togethers much more amusing.

In the show, Raymond has three kids – one girl and twin boys. While I don’t have any kids yet, I’m pretty sure I’m going to have twins when I do have children. The difference will be that my twins will be girls. You see, there’s something about being a Hawkins male that destroys the ability to produce multiple male offspring. I only have two Y chromosomes in my body, and I’m using one of those.

And now for the thing you’re probably really anxious for – my parents. No, my parents don’t live across the street from me, though I’m sure they would be all for it if they could. It’s a good thing too, because I could see it becoming like the show at least to some degree. My mother isn’t crazy like Marie. She doesn’t come barging in to my place unannounced and proceed to rail on my wife for how poorly she keeps up the house or cooks. But, like Marie, she is an amazing cook, she keeps her house immaculately clean – really, you could eat off the toilet seat – and she dotes on her children, though, you know who is really her favorite.

I don’t know how the producers of the show found out about my life, but I’m pretty sure I was the inspiration for the show. But the good thing about having a show about my life is I can plan ahead. Think about it, if Raymond forgets his wife’s birthday, I get to see firsthand how much trouble he gets into, and that reminds me to make sure I observe my wife’s birthday, which is on, uh… uh…

I’ll be over at my parent’s house.

Seth Hawkins is a senior majoring in public relations. He is currently investigating whether or not he was the inspiration for Dwight Shrute. Questions and comments can be sent to him at seth.h@aggiemail.usu.edu