Can you say “ballsack” at a funeral?

I don’t want to get too heavy on you, so I’ll jump in at “ballsack.”

I was in the middle of my dad’s eulogy, talking about a wackadoo who used to call his business number.

Dad was a shrink, and because he advertised in the Yellow Pages under every possible heading (Anger Management, Jewish Psychoanalysis, Psychoanalytic Therapy for the Aged, and probably Counseling for Wackadoodles), he got his fair share of loonies leaving messages on his answering machine.

He’d save the good ones and play them for me. “How would you like to hear a real nut job?” he’d ask.

My favorite, a serial caller, screamed/ rasped, “DOCTA BELLLLLLGRAY! MY BALLSACK ITCHES!” Beep. End of message. Next message. “IT’S VERY ITCHY!” Beep. End of message. Next message. “OH GOD, IT ITCHES SO BAD!”

When I told this story at his service, I hesitated before “ballsack” and said “I’ll paraphrase here…”

I was going to change it to “private part” or “junk.”

It loses something, but. Children. My niece and nephew, who are 6 and 8, were in the front row.

My sister (their mom), however, waved me on. “You can say the real thing,” she called out.

So I went for it. My mom had just talked about my dad flashing their friends one time on the way to go skinny dipping, so a ballsack-adjacent tone had already been set.

Little did I know, my sister was about to take it to eleven during her own eulogy and tell a story where someone said “F*ck you, you f*ckin b*tch!” Not just once, but over and over.

My “ballsack” was merely paving the way.

(Make your “that’s what he said” joke here.)

All through the service, I’m sure some people were thinking, “You can say that?” 

I didn’t google “Can you say ballsack at a funeral?” Even if there had been a result on Yahoo answers, it would’ve been, “You’re really not supposed to.”

I imagine “F*ck you, f*cking b*tch” isn’t in “supposed to” territory, either. 

Screw supposed to.

There’s so much supposed to when someone you love dies.

How you’re supposed to feel, whom you’re supposed to tell first, how you’re supposed to say it. (Apparently, you’re supposed to say “passed away” or just “passed.” I’ve never liked that phrase. My mind always links it with “passed gas.”)

Supposed to isn’t a function of what you can do, but of what people normally do or what’s already been done.

You’re not supposed to cold-call Irish Catholic strangers in Ireland and tell them, “You’re my cousin. And surprise, you’re Jewish.”

You’re not supposed to make a New York City bus stop for you by standing in front of it and hitting it with an umbrella.

You’re not supposed to eat unidentified food you dropped on your pants.

My dad did all those things.

Of course, my dad was not a “supposed to” guy.

Though he might’ve said, “I’m your dad, I’m supposed to embarrass you!”

Fair enough.

You’re probably not supposed to write to your whole list about your dad’s funeral.

Well, I’m my father’s daughter.

So here we are. With a very un-supposed-to email.

If you want to read more about him, he’s made frequent cameos on my blog. He has his own category. Some posts might need updating, but so did his wardrobe.

He was on The Daily Show in 2006. Watch to the end.

Here’s our tribute to him in the NY Times.

And I posted my ballsack-flavored eulogy here on Facebook.

For the record, the rabbi got up at the end and said, “In my 40 years of officiating funerals, I have never had such a good time.”

Are funerals supposed to be a good time? Who cares.