Survival of the Funniest

Growing up as the youngest of five kids, funny was the only way to survive.

As the baby and the youngest girl, I was constantly scheming with my family members on pranks we would pull on each other.

There was the puppy chow in the cereal trick – hidden secretly beneath the Cheerios. Or the flour bowl perched over the door – messy but good. My personal favorite was the ice cold pitcher of water tossed on whoever happened to be showering at the moment. Naked and screaming – the victim could never retaliate, making it the best prank of all.

I think my family loved huckstering tricks on each other because we had nothing better to do with our time. We had no computers or VCRs. We didn’t even have cable in those days – our small Midwestern town was lucky enough to get three channels of TV, four if you count UHF, which didn’t really get any shows anyways.

Those were the days where we would spend hours at the park (by ourselves), built forts in the backyard and rode bikes endlessly up and down main street. We lived on a lake and would sometimes take our small rowboat out to a nearby island or explore the secret cemetery directly across from it. I can recall entire afternoons doing nothing at all but skipping rocks, pulling apart cattails, and collecting piles of snapdragons. I guess that’s why we loved pranks – it was pure, simple fun that we could invent ourselves.

We were the typical small town family where there was literally nothing to do but watch the grass grow. In desperation for fun, I can actually remember making up entire songs out of the contents of the bathroom cupboards. I would hum a little ditty called “Lysol, Listermint, Dial, Shout!” until my family would beg me to stop. I wish I was making this up.

That’s what got me started on dumb jokes. As another way to pass the time, we would make up jokes filled with ridiculous nonsense. I loved making up my own funnies with punchlines that sometimes made sense and often times would not. We would tell jokes late into the night where we made popcorn the real way, with Jiffy Pop from a long handled popcorn popper over a fire. Telling jokes wasn’t to be funny, it was something to fill the endless spaces of boredom in our lives.

Now I recycle jokes from my childhood by sharing them with my six year-old son. Every day he insists that a joke is put on a post-it note in his lunch for school. I oblige because I desperately want him to appreciate the plain funny things in life. To know that everything doesn’t have to be loaded with graphics, music, technology and pizzazz to be great. Some things are sweet and funny all by themselves.

Dumb jokes have a simple, easy humor about them that I adore. They don’t require any sort of high-minded intellect or even much thinking at all. They are a great equalizer of people – no matter whether they come from the Ivy League or a small farm town. If they are 6 or 60 years old, everyone appreciates a good joke that is meant solely for delight.

The thing that I like best is that jokes remind me of the days when we had to invent our own fun. Where we couldn’t simply look up a website for a thought, we had to actually create it. All we had was our imagination and endless hours to fill.

Despite the fact that I am now past pulling pranks on my family members – sometimes I still can’t resist a good trick. My childish dark ways come out at inappropriate times – like cocktail parties. I cannot resist a friend’s purse sitting innocently by itself at a table. While the unsuspecting gal is off filling her plate at the buffet, I load it up with silverware, salt and pepper shakers and whatever else I can find. Girlfriends have discovered entire menus and vases (depending on the purse) after an evening out with me. I hug them goodbye with my wicked smile and they wonder curiously how their purse got so much heavier than they remember. The pure pleasure of a good practical joke is a sweet devilish thing.

Funny started for me as a way to get through my childhood. And now I find it as the best way to keep that spirit of youthful joy alive. With this child-like notion, I wonder if perhaps one of the most treasured parts of life might be a dumb joke and a deep belly laugh.