I see funny stuff all day long. And I laugh my butt off. You see, when I was a kid, laughter was discouraged and forbidden at the dinner table. It was considered a curse or some such nonsense. Laughing at the dinner table was sure to bring out one of my mother's favorite sayings: "Giggling girls and cackling hens, always come to no good end." I actually have enough motherisms to fill a book. I'll have to get drunk first if I ever decide to write them all down.
So, imagine my confusion when I went to dinner at my maternal grandmother's house and my mother was yukking it up with her siblings - before, during and after dinner! My mother suffered from depression, and valued people who could make her laugh. Just not me. I was told I was not funny (or pretty or nice...) So I stopped trying and turned inward into a very serious person. Then, she criticized me for being too serious.
I really should be a serial killer...
Well, it only took 50+ years, therapy, and a houseful of funny people and animals to stop the voice in my head from telling me all of the stupid stuff that was stuck in there. My children are hilarious and were encouraged to laugh and talk and do everything but throw food at the dinner table. (I would have been okay with that, too, but their wise father drew the line.) And my kids have funny partners. When we're all together, the laughs just keep rolling.
The laughter gene has been passed on to our grandchildren as well. Our granddaughter has a more subtle, eye rolling, zingers under her breath, kind of humor. Like me. Our grandson just pops off these hilarious statements, a lot like his grandfather, and keeps on moving. Our two little grands-of-the-heart crack us up, too. The little one is a shtick artist. The older is more subtle and makes very clever observations. When we all get together it's a laugh riot.
I also live with creatures that make me laugh. Jack has perfected the deadpan stare that says so much. There will be chaos all around and he'll slowly turn his head and zing off something akin to, "Had enough yet?" "What were you thinking when you opened that door? That guy could have been an axe murderer!" "Do something with your cat or the next thing you see is my mouth full of cat fur."
Eli is our resident Scrooge. His is the eye-rolling, observational kind of humor. "If you think I'm going to put up with another cat in this house, you're out of your mind." "I refuse to eat this stuff. Who do you think I am? Waiter!!" "Fancy, I don't know when or where or how, but I will kill you. Sleep with one eye open, my friend."
Chance just cracks me up when I look at him. He has a crossy-eyed, comical expression on his face and he makes me happy. His comments are litter box centered. He'll go over the gate and stare at the box and I can read his thoughts. "Oh man. How does she expect me to go in there with all this other poop in it?" "I could just pee on the floor but she's standing right there." "Okay. Fine. I'll use your dumb old box now, but when you're not paying attention..."
Dash has quickly become the resident comic. His is of the cute little kid variety. He likes to explore the house now, and only checks in with me when he needs some reassurance. We had a thunder storm last evening. There was also hail which was making a racket beating on the skylights. I looked down, and there was tiny Dash looking up at me with wide eyes. I picked him up and reassured him everything was going to be okay. Poor Jack, who hates storms now ever since I blew up the speakers, looked at me like, "Why can't I sit on your lap, too?"
When the storm ended, Dash went back to being a kid. After playing, napping, eating, tormenting his brothers, etc., all day long, I decided he should get some rest. I scooped him up and told him it was bed time. The look on his face was reminiscent of a look I've seen many times on my kids' and grandkids' faces. Translation: "NOOOO!! I don't wanna go to bed!!" I'm not tired!" And, like a kid, he squirmed out of my arms and proceeded to prove to me how un-tired he was. The expression, "He got his second wind," came to mind.
While the three Rags just sat there staring at him, Dash gathered as many of his toys as he could, and started batting them around like a maniac. He was swatting stuff under things then frantically diving after them. He would run so fast his back legs went faster, like a cartoon character, and he would trip over himself. Then, he would plaster his ears down and really take off. In a crazed span of about twenty minutes, he swatted, ran, crashed, jumped, bounced and flipped like a toy robot gone berserk. I was laughing so hard I almost wet myself. Then, just like that, he stopped and let me pick him up and put him to bed.
Contrary to what my crazy mother thought, laughter and play are not evil things designed to bring about one's ruin. When I think about how afraid I was to laugh - OH - here's another motherism - "If you laugh too much, you're going to cry." Every single time a kid would be having fun, then do a kid thing like fall down, she would be ready with her zinger - "See! I told you that would happen!" Well, I am here to say, I've been documenting this and she was wrong. Sure, shit happens. But there is no direct correlation between laughter and subsequent pain. That's bullshit. Kids get hurt. But having fun prior to that does not cause that hurt to happen. Laughter is healing.
To prove my point, I am on a campaign to laugh at every superstitious thing my mother ever told me. I will admit to being the kid who intentionally stepped on those cracks. I just can't bring myself to walk under a ladder, though. Or wear an opal since it isn't my birthstone and you're supposed to die or something if you wear one. Or break a mirror!! Gawd!! Where did I put that therapist's number....
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