That’s the Joke
I wasn’t really ever the smartest, naturally at least. I worked hard though, hard enough to get me here. Neither was I the tallest, or most athletic, as much as I wish I could tell you that wasn’t the case. And probably the nail in the coffin, I wasn’t even the most handsome, although that’s subjective so feel free to disagree with me.
Although it may seem like it, I didn’t write this paper for pity points, I’ll save that project for later, memories and tears included. I did always feel like I was better than most at one thing in particular, and that was making people laugh. I didn’t even really notice it at first, I just found that when I said things, the reaction I enjoyed the most from others was a chuckle. To me, it seemed like the easiest way to buy my way into someone’s life and keep a permanent hold of my new position, be the one that brings them joy and never brings them pain. I thought it was a novelty idea, one that had my name written all over it. I even wore it as a badge. No matter how many times I had to change my personality, or the things I said, my goal was and sometimes still is, to get as many people to like me as I possibly could. I was the greatest shapeshifter.
In reality, though, I think I was almost fine-tuned to be this way. My Dad was the first person I ever saw communicate with humor. If he was in trouble with my mom, boom, his escape hatch was a joke and it made everyone laugh and forget that he just went $300 over budget at the grocery store. If me and another one of my siblings were sad or stressed, with one joke he could flip the whole situation on its head, making sure we found it funny instead. And he introduced me to his heroes, books, movies, and TV shows, which brought out the joy in me and taught me the art of humor.
Growing up, I was a huge consumer of media. In my house, you could often hear my mom’s voice ringing through the hallways with warning that if I sat any closer to the TV I might fall in. A warning that I begrudgingly heeded… until she left the room. Truth be told I wish I could have fallen in. The people that looked like me in that big light-up box, were always the ones making people laugh, no matter what shape or size they were. They were magicians to me. Murphy, Mack, Chapelle, Hart, Williams, Pryor, Rock, Tucker, Harvey, Foxx, Wayans… the list goes on and on. These men and the words they stated had an effect on people, people they didn’t even know.
So I tried their tricks, and when they didn’t work, or sometimes caused an adverse reaction (which happened a lot), I put a new and probably more appropriate spin on them. They gave me the assurances I needed. I wanted to know the people around me were enjoying my company, and that I was bringing something more than just my presence to their lives. I wanted them to associate me with the happy and joyful moments in their lives.
It has a deeper purpose for me than that for me though, comedy has always been my security blanket. If I don’t take myself seriously then nothing that anyone says can hurt me. If I can make jokes about myself then I can beat everyone else to the punch. No one can hurt me. To further explore my relationship with comedy I have created two pieces which delve into how and why laughter is important to me:
