Class Clown

Something happened on the weekend that had me thinking about the ability to make people laugh. From that starting point I found myself remembering that the form my teenage angst took was to hate the fact I was class clown. While I remember the sheer power to transcend all clique boundaries being seen as a funny guy granted, in private I used to pound my chest and promise myself I would not succumb to the pressure to be funny. I know... but really I did. The demand began standing, waiting for the school bus, intensified on the bus -- where being seen as funny won me seats near the very back and some protection from bullies even very early in my high school career -- and then continued throughout the day, including some expectation from some teachers to entertain their class. And laugh they all did, regardless frankly of what I said or did (and physical comedy was a big thing in high school, of course). I remember once going on stage at an assembly to make some actual announcement, then just standing there silent for a few seconds and leaving. People pissed their pants, for god's sake.

As I've changed jobs I've also been reminded about what really has been bit invisible for some time to me (hard to describe what I mean there) and that's that I make people laugh. Many folks of where I used to work have told me the place is not nearly as fun since my "funny" isn't there anymore, and the folks at the new job take the opportunity to introduce me to every new person I meet as the college's new funny guy.

My mother has been having some health problems in the past few weeks, post her stroke of a year or more ago. She's in hospital again with suspected heart problems (likely a heart attack) and I visited her on the weekend. She's been test living (yah, you can do that! Amazing huh?) a few seniors apartment complexes (with varying degrees of extended health support attached) and collapsed while arriving at one a week ago.

This is going to be "had to be there stuff" but on Sunday while asking her which home she liked best my mother said it was a bit difficult to measure the latest since she was (with great embarrassment) carted out of the place on a gurney only a few minutes after arriving. From there my mother and I built a comedy routine out of our conversation -- I assumed an old woman on the floor persona telling the home administrator that I found the floor very clean and liked the selection of tile. My mother chimed in asking if there would be many stairs to "climb" and on and on we went with silly mirth.

When we could breath again (yah, I know, nothing like getting one's hospitalized mother into a state of laughing fits!) my mother said -- "Aye-awch, yer so silly. That was such a good laugh. My spirits are lifted. Oh, that's what I needed..."

And THAT almost made me cry.