My sense of humour is sometimes misunderstood by individuals who: have no sense of humour themselves; take themselves too seriously; or simply don’t want anyone else to enjoy a moment or two of levity.
I don’t remember when I developed a sense of humour or the ability to laugh at myself or the antics of my close family members. Sure, I played jokes on my friends, had jokes played on me in return. And I enjoyed catching someone with an April Fool’s joke. As a youngster and then as a teenager, I didn’t equate those traits with a sense of humour.
Over the years I was introduced to the writings of Gary Lautens and Erma Bombeck and the cartooning of Lynn Johnston. Those three made me laugh and got me to thinking: they take on life as a bit of comedic daily performance.
Someone, whose name escapes me, said Erma Bombeck held a mirror to her life. What she saw made her laugh, and so she sat down and wrote about it for others to enjoy. I wish I had met Bombeck in person, for I suspect she would have immediately understood my bursts of humour, humour that sometimes others don’t see as humour or don’t know why I’m laughing.
If I think about it for a bit, perhaps the best bit of humour in my life was realizing that the men in the newsroom back in 1968 didn’t want me there, but could do nothing to get rid of me.
Then, in that same year, on a leisurely Saturday afternoon gathered around the city desk, one of those men made a comment and I had an immediate comeback that resulted in laughter from the group. I believe they were laughing with me and not at me, and my position as one of the newsroom gang was confirmed.
When I was tasked with writing a regular newspaper column, I had a period of panic asking: “What on Earth would I find to write about on a weekly basis?” A wise news person told me to look around and write about what I was seeing, but never, ever to make fun of someone unless I made fun of myself first. Such bewildering advice.
Somewhere along the road, “Housemate” was born. And he has been involved in the majority of events that have been described and discussed in my columns. Readers seem to enjoy the antics of our household and say they always laugh when I mention Housemate. They also say they laugh because they see themselves in the topics I’ve highlighted.
When I am misunderstood or accused of being “such an absolute piece of human garbage,” as one reader recently described me in an email, I stewed about the comments for awhile but then weighed her response against the others who said they “got a good laugh” out of the column about needing youthful help in the household.
One gentleman offered me the services of his four-year-old granddaughter, whom he described as being smarter than others her age. He wasn’t advocating child labour, but understood our need for someone in this youthful category to sometimes get us out of a mess of our own creation.
I appreciate readers who understand and share my sense of humour. I laugh at myself every time I can’t open a bottle of iced tea and have to turn to Housemate for assistance. Ditto with water bottle caps, pull top lids on canned foods and the little tabs that have to be pushed up on the breath mints.
Without help from someone of any age, I’d face a life without liquid refreshments and no mystery meat sandwiches. Plus, I would have bad breath. Now that isn’t a bit humorous.
Joyce Walter can be reached at [email protected]
