When I was a kid, I thought my mother’s family were dull people, no fun at all, not like my father’s family, who were always teasing and making jokes. Now I know I’m like those sober old farmers on my mother’s side. Lots of the time, I’m quiet because I just don’t have anything to say. Or I’m still thinking, trying to figure things out.
When I try to tease, it goes all wrong, maybe because I have this habit of analyzing everything. Don’t you hate people like that? So even if I break out with something I intend to be funny, I’m taken seriously.
Now I look back on my dull, deceased ancestors and wonder if they also discovered it was useless to attempt a joke. They might have found themselves wounding someone unintentionally and decided never to do THAT again.
In such ways we nip our talents in the bud. (“Nip it in the bud!” Barney Fife, I love you still). Long ago, I chose the straight, clean path of analysis over the more treacherous trail. But because we always want what we can’t have (see how analysis intrudes?), I’d love to make people laugh.
Comedy seems the highest and most difficult form of art. For me to attempt it would take as much nerve as jumping from an Olympic diving board, not knowing if I could swim or not. Or if there was water in the pool.
All you wits with your tongues in your cheeks, I envy your bravado and applaud your devotion to laughter. I hope it’s fun for you too.