My Mom Won’t Call Me Funny
I’m not sure which fact is more ridiculous: that I’m jealous of Facebook memes, or that my mom won’t say that I’m funny.
My mother has never doubted my comedic dreams, which are to perform and write for television. But if you’ve ever been called “silly,” which is my mom’s favorite word to describe my brand of comedy, you’ll understand my pains. Silly is the word you use to describe a clown or a small child, not the future Amy Poehler/Jessica Williams hybrid. (As you can see, I have high hopes for myself.)
My aim is not to paint my mother as this evil woman because that’d be impossible. She’s the exact opposite, in fact. Our relationship has always been stable, and for that I’m extremely grateful. No Scorned Daughter Lifetime Movie storylines to be found here. But of course, there are some things that I’d fix.
What begins as a peaceful moment lounging in bed can quickly transform into my mom’s own comedy hour. The door to my bedroom will burst open, revealing my mother with her cellphone in hand. Tiptoeing into my room, the bluish glow of her Samsung Galaxy screen illuminates her face. Her smile is somewhat of a childish grin, and I can immediately predict what’s going to happen next.
Her laughter evolves, starting with a tiny chuckle, which then explodes into hyena-like cackling. In this moment, I am sure my mother has found herself enamored with yet another Facebook meme. Thanks, Mark Zuckerberg, for this platform of my own personal hell! From kids covered in baking flour to President Obama jokes, she is always hitting refresh for the next opportunity to laugh. Whether it’s in the form of a video or stock image, the Internet takes my mother by its greedy claws.
She is obsessed, and if she finds something hilarious, she can’t keep it to herself. I find this to be part of her giving nature, but there is the one thing she struggles to give. It’s in the way she is so eager to share the sometimes meaningless Internet content with the world versus the timid manner in which she regards my comedic efforts.
“Mom, do you think I’m funny?” I ask. The nervous quiet that follows hurts more than I like to let on. I’ve succeeded in making my mother laugh that side-splitting laughter that every comic dreams of, but I do wish there was more. Something tangible; verbal proof that she’s proud.
I know that the lack of verbal validation I crave stems from her upbringing. My grandmother, who is also a contender for Sweetest Woman Alive, does not do well with words either. Her generation was not about feelings, and her brand of love included providing a home-cooked meal and somewhere to sleep. Not necessarily words of encouragement.
It’s with bitter and begrudging maturity that I accept my mother not calling me funny does not translate to her not believing that I am. I can feel it with every joke that I make, article I write or video of mine that she’s always ready to share. My mother loves me, and while she might have trouble expressing it, she has tremendous faith in my crazy dreams. And for that, I’ll just have to accept her never calling me funny. (However, don’t get me wrong, if I had the power, I’d definitely delete that Facebook account of hers in a second.)
