Though my personality runs to the serious side of the spectrum, I’ve found balance in letting humor seep from the seams. Even back in my scholar personality of high school, I self-appointed myself to spiff up the music room’s stale bulletin board with a page of jokes and cartoons, purportedly published by the BBBBBBC (Building Better Boring Band Bulletin Boards Committee).
Enter marriage and motherhood, and humor was a parental survival tactic. It was also one way to help build well-rounded children. Here are some of the things we did.
*Be imperfect. Our kids heard their parents laughing about their mistakes. Mine involved their dad’s new white tennis shoes for teaching elementary physical education. They’d gotten muddy, so one morning I tossed them in the “dark” wash load. They emerged pink, thanks to some new red pants in the same load. His foible as a life-long fisherman: flinging out a long cast with his favorite rod and reel and accidentally letting go of them. Plunk.
*Be imaginative. Our kids’ best toys came in a box that we filled…with yardage remnants, wigs, shawls, funky glasses, hats, allergy masks, old nightgowns and yard-sale costumes. Called the “dress-up box,” it aided hours of creative play. While the kids were still little, at Christmas we re-enacted the Nativity story with the kids as the key characters, Dad as the donkey and Mom multi-tasking the extra roles. Another box held hand puppets (found at yard sales and thrift stores) that starred in original puppet shows behind a “couch” stage.
*Be irrational. Sometimes we changed the rules, like having dessert before dinner, or having the kids be “cook” and “waiter” for guests Mom and Dad at the kitchen table. Over milk and crackers, the parents hammed it up with atrocious manners like talking with food in our mouths, using fingers instead of forks, and arguing over who got the biggest portion. We called it “teachable moments” as the kids saw their own bad habits.
*Be interactive. Playing together included charades with Bible characters (Samson flexed his muscles and combed his hair, bent-over Sarah swaddled a baby). On long car trips it meant add-on stories (“There once was a weary mother who…”) and alphabet drills (F my name is Felix, and I live in Farmington and sell frankfurters). And yes, besides letting the kids play “fort” with sofa cushions, chairs and lots of sheets and blankets, we actually crammed a tent into the living room for a “camp-in.”
*Be infamous. Celebrate being “normal” and prone to funny stuff. We had “code names” for hilarious family events. “Eagles” recalled the zoo trip to see raptor birds and Mom getting disgusting “plops” in her hair while she stood under a tree for shade. “TP Streamers” coded a bare-bottomed 18-month-old streaking out of the bathroom with a lengthening stream of toilet paper in hand. We also started a “Funny File” notebook where we pasted all those too-close-to-home cartoons retired from tenure on the family refrigerator.
Trust me, a sense of humor can defuse some not-so-fun experiences. One afternoon a split scalp from a fall sent me to the emergency room. Home again with the wound stapled shut, I found my teens unusually solicitous in offering me ice and an afghan while I rested in my recliner. Later, after much behind-the-bedroom-door giggling, they presented me with a get-well card in which they’d expressed their love and kisses with X’s and O’s--created with a desk stapler.
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