Ennoia

Ennoia (en-no’-i-a): A kind of purposeful holding back of information that nevertheless hints at what is meant. A kind of circuitous speaking.

“You might be wondering what’s coming next. It may be worth it for you to wait quietly. You never know. Ha! Ha!,” said my father.

At this point, after at least 100 times, I knew it wasn’t worth it to wait. I don’t know why he kept doing it, but at least once a week he would tell me to “wait quietly” and something beneficial would happen. He was no seer. He sat in his recliner in his bathrobe chain-smoking Camels, watching soap operas all day on our little black and white TV. He was “disabled” and he didn’t work. The Union paid him monthly benefits for the permanent injuries he had sustained when his UPS truck had exploded and he was thrown fifty feet and landed in a dumpster filled with broken glass. His UPS inform saved him from being shredded, but he was badly cut, and physically—he lost one of his eyes, injured from being blown up, and he suffers from PTSD, He can’t ride as a passenger in any kind of vehicle, including trains and airplanes.

They caught the person who blew up his truck. The person had a grudge agains UPS. His brother had died when the UPS driver delivering the heart to be transplanted in his brother got lost on the way to the hospital. By the time he got there, the heart was no good any more. So, this guy started a vendetta against UPS, blaming them for his brother’s death. When they caught the guy, he went “Boom!” and clapped hands. The cops were startled, but they cuffed him and took him away. He was tried and convicted as a domestic terrorist. He got life in prison.

Although we pitied Dad, we believed he could do better than “riding” the recliner and smoking Camels in his bathrobe every day. Instead, we decided to get him a motorcycle so he could tour around the hills and dales of central New Jersey where we lived. Despite his PTSD, he could still drive. We went to Marley’s Harleys and picked one out. He took lessons on the bike for a week.

He took off and never came back. We heard that an “old guy” that looked a lot like him was riding with “The Outlaws.” He was called “One Eye Jack.” That fit: dad only had one eye and his first name was “Jack.”

We gave up trying to find him. Then, 4 years later, there was a loud rumbling noise outside. There was a long line of Outlaws lining the street. One motorcycle was pulling a trailer with with a coffin draped in an American flag. Four men hoisted up the coffin and laid it down on our front lawn. One of the men, with tears in his eyes said “He was always sayin’ ‘You might be wondering what’s coming next. It may be worth it for you to wait quietly. You never know. Ha! Ha!’ His optimism was an inspiration.”

We’re not going to tell anybody that Dad’s dead. We’re going to keep collecting his pension check. He’d like that.

Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)

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