Humor

There are two distinct memories I have of getting attention for humor when I was very young.
One was when I picked up the “Boy Scout Joke Book” at the library in Henning. I came home and tried out some of the jokes, and there was a joke about a Frenchman, a German, and Ole going to the guillotine that seemed to tickle people. I first told it to Mom and she had me tell it to Dad. Dad thought it was funny and he had me tell it to some other people. I put a little more drama into it each time I told the joke and thought hey, I can do this. I can make people laugh.

The other memory is of the family sitting down around the dinner table, and Mom brought the food to the table and her four hungry kids started grabbing for whatever they could get their hands on. Mom stood back and said “Gosh, you’d think you were all starving kids in Asia that you think you have to jump all over the food just to get some!” I paused for a moment and said “Well Mom, if they jump on their food, no wonder they’re starving.” Everybody thought that was pretty funny. I laughed too, but half expected to get in trouble for making a smart remark. No trouble came.

I was starting to learn that my dry humor could make people laugh, and that the time, place, and manner of the remark could determine whether it was received well or not. I’m so grateful that I didn’t get scolded for that. Whether it’s genetic or something I picked up from Mom & Dad along the way, I’m grateful that I came away with a good sense of humor—good enough to make a smart remark once in a while, and also good enough to laugh at myself when the tables are turned.