Hoobenschnoober, Howie

I recently went to the hospital and commented over dinner about our expenses with this most recent visit. Paola, our adopted daughter from Haiti, listened intently to her dad and me as we discussed the cost of healthcare. Finally, after a long pause for emphasis, Paola informed us that she had a solution. “What is your solution, Paola,” I asked. 

“Simple.” she said, “Change your last name to Hoobenschnoober.” 

“Hoobenschnoober!” Her father laughed. “Why Hoobenschnoober?” 

“You could make your first name, Howie.” She said.  “I don’t think anyone is out there with the name Hoobenschnoober comma Howie.” She added, “When they try to send the bill, they won’t find anyone with that last name, and you won’t have to pay it!” She said all this with such a straight face that it added to the comical effect. Then she went into a routine of speaking with an English accent as she introduced herself as Howie Hobenschnoober.

“Paola,” I asked, “Where in the world do you come up with this stuff?” 

“I don’t know, Mommy.” She replied. “My brain just works that way.” 

There is no doubt that she is quick-witted!

One day, when she was about seven years old and had been playing dress-up in her room, she emerged wearing her cowgirl hat, boots, western-style skirt, and western shirt. I told her that dinner was almost ready, so she returned to her room to finish “dressing for dinner.” We had some friends over for dinner, and we were all seated at the table when Paola arrived, still dressed in all her cowgirl garb. She had added red lipstick and blue eyeshadow and was carrying her guitar. Picture a black Haitian waltzing into the kitchen and announcing in her southern drawl that she is a “Red Neck Honey Nut Cheerio!” 

Paola followed her announcement with a montage of country songs she had composed in her room. She had all our guests practically rolling on the floor laughing. Our neighbor, Joe, laughed so hard that he cried in his food. I thought I would have to perform the Heimlich maneuver on my daughter, Katie, whose drink came out of her nose while she coughed uncontrollably. Paola continued singing and dancing, undisturbed by the commotion she was creating. All her songs, in true country fashion, were about how someone “did her wrong.” 

Then there was the time when Paola was about eight, and we were going for a walk. During our walk, we strolled by the bingo hall. Without missing a beat, Paola went into her old-lady act. She pretended to be walking with a cane and announced in her very shaky old lady voice, “Can someone help an old lady get across the street to the bingo hall?” Then she continued, “I want to beat that old biddy, Gertrude, out of winning the 50/50.” She continued the old lady routine all the way home. I was laughing so hard I almost peed my pants (which only added to her comedy routine as she commented on the importance of having a good adult diaper like Depend). 

I don’t know where she gets this stuff! She really means it when she says her brain works that way. Someday I suspect we might be watching a black “Red Neck Honey Nut Cheerio” on Comedy Central. Or, maybe she’ll call herself; Hoobenschnoober Comma Howie.