GABY’S FIFTH VIDEO—MARTY’S VISIT

So we’re getting ready to serve breakfast to the homeless—Lord, are we nice people or what?—and your uncle Marty looks up from the peaches he’s chopping for the granola, and he says, “What is bothering you so badly, Gaby?”

And I say, “How’d you know something was up?”

He says, “I know you, Gaby. Maybe better than anyone. I can see pain in your eyes. It’s obvious to me.”

So I told him that my junior class was bugging the shit out of me. I told Marty they were all so good at figuring out how to get great grades on their book reports that they essentially ignored the books. You know, how you can read To Kill a Mockingbird or The Things They Carried and completely understand the book but not in any way feel the book?

And to my amazement, Marty says, “How about I come by and talk to the kids?” I was thrilled.

So, at ten o’clock that same morning, when they all file in—pulling their earphones out of their ears, hiding their Cokes—they see me standing in the back of the room and Marty sitting on my desk facing the class.

I tell them to settle down. I tell them Marty is a good friend and that he’s going to teach the class. And, of course, Tara Walsh raises her hand and asks, “Is there going to be a quiz on your friend’s talk?”

Marty says, “Yeah. So you’d better pay attention. The quiz counts for ninety percent of your final grade.”

“Ninety-eight percent,” I quip from the back.

Then he dives right in. No small talk. No “Good morning, everyone.” Just this man standing there in faded jeans and a denim shirt that cost more than an iPod, talking in a tough, confident voice.

He points at a boy slouched over in back and says, “What’s your favorite book, dude?”

No answer at first. Marty just stares, and finally the boy says, “I guess it’s sort of for littler kids, but, to be honest, the only book I ever really liked was Diary of a Wimpy Kid.”

Marty says, “Of course you liked it. It’s a terrific book, funny as hell. I guess my favorite part is when Fregley slips a letter under Greg’s door. I actually remember the letter: ‘Dear Gregory, I’m very sorry I chased you with a booger on my finger. Here, I put it on this paper so you can get me back.’”

A lot of the class laughs. Then Marty points to another kid, who looks like he’s texting.

“What’s your favorite book?” The kid doesn’t even know he’s being spoken to. He just keeps on texting.

Another kid, Mia Wendel, calls out, “The last book Joey read was Goodnight Moon.”

Marty says, “Another very good book, one of my favorites.”

Then Marty says something like “Listen. Twenty-five years from now, believe it or not, you all will be forty years old. And you know when twenty-five years is? It’s tomorrow. That’s how fast it happens. And I’ll tell you something: If you’re not reading—with your heart as well as your brain—you will be one stupid grown-up. Even worse, you’ll be missing out on one of the best experiences you can possibly have. Nowhere will you meet more interesting people than in books. I’ve met a lot of people, I’ve read a lot of books, and that’s the absolute truth.”

And I realize that I’m sitting there enthralled, listening as intently as the kids are.

“It doesn’t make a bit of difference how you read—a Kindle, an iPad, a book-book. Read a graphic novel if you like them. Read a biography of somebody awful—Hitler or Lee Harvey Oswald. I can see that not all of you know who Lee Harvey Oswald is. He shot John Kennedy.”

Then Marty says, “Okay. Next question: What’s the absolutely worst book you ever read?”

Suddenly there’s a heated debate. Which was worse, Moby-Dick or Pride and Prejudice? This one’s closer than Gore versus Bush. So Marty says, “Let’s settle it this way. Do most of you agree they both sucked?”

All but the brownnosers agree. And Marty says, “When you’re home tonight, look at them again. Open them up anywhere. Start to read. You already know the stories.

“And let’s say you get to an exceptionally boring part of Moby-Dick, like the part where Melville writes twenty pages on how they drain the whale oil. Read it slowly. Even if it’s painful. Then close the book and think about what you just read. Think about how the whalers did it. How they worked, how the blood sprayed them until their eyes hurt. How they slid and slithered off the whale.

“You see, one of the best things about reading is that you’ll always have something to think about when you’re not reading.

“Okay, try the same thing with the Jane Austen. But do me a favor: think of Pride and Prejudice as something meant to be funny. Pride and Prejudice is friggin’ funny.”

Someone yells out, “Yeah, man. Pride and Prejudice is just like Family Guy. Hope I don’t get the two of ’em confused.”

Marty says, “Hey, listen. Maybe you’re right. Maybe you’ll still think it’s boring. You don’t have to like everything. I’m that way. I’d rather have root canal than read A Tale of Two Cities, but give me another one of Dickens’s books, like Oliver Twist, and I’ll stay up all night.”

Now I’m thinking that I should have Marty go to every class in the school—from chemistry to shop to computer science—and give this talk. And I’m also thinking that I learned things about books and reading that I’d never thought of, and I’m also thinking that…that…my brother-in-law is just about the smartest person I know.

When the bell rings there’s a really big, really honest round of applause. Kids come up and pump Marty’s hand and pat him on the back. Tara Walsh asks again if there’s going to be a quiz. I think Tara is kidding.

I was on break after that class. So I brought Marty to the cafeteria and got him some awful coffee. Then we went outside and took a walk around the basketball court. I thanked him for coming. He told me it was nothing, a total pleasure. We circled the basketball court two more times. Marty put his arm around my shoulder.

I said to him that we probably looked like two middle-aged lovers.

He looked at me and said, “Maybe we are and we just don’t know it yet.”

Talk to you later, guys. See you on Christmas—soon.

When all will be revealed.