Thoughts on Humor

"Humor is war."

I heard that once. Never really knew what Voltaire meant by it, but now I think I do.

A good friend of mine who grew up in Kenya told me once that, when him and his friends were aching with hunger as kids, sometimes they would all just start laughing about it. "It's the only way you could deal with it!", he said with his large white eyes.

I've never heard that perspective on poverty. Regardless of how bad or light the circumstance, no matter where you are or what time period you were born in, humor has been and continues to be a universal gift to mankind to delight us and de-stress us. I've underestimated just how much laughter does not only to provide relief, but protection as well. It wards off all those diseases of the heart and body that stem from worry.

As I've been getting over a relationship this month, I've noticed how funny people have helped me just as much as serious, reflective people.

Take Fatty, for instance. He's my 50 yr old little friend up in the Kitchen at St. Davids who is charming, always smiling, and always wanting to make me oatmeal. When he first found out I had a boyfriend he was so excited--always asking me when I was moving to Africa (where he lived) and such.

For two months I was smitten and happy and glowing, and now that we broke up my countenance is you know, dismal. But Fatty still asks me. Every. Single. Morning.

"How's your boyfriend?"
"It's over Fatty."
"He'll call you."
"No he won't."

My sad sighs, sad eyes, (and the general fact that I look homeless) don't work on Fatty. He just keeps talking through his boyish grin, saying "He'll come back," even though I know he won't. But for some reason I feel better. Fatty makes big things seem like small things. Even when he gets mad, he's joking. After I told him something today he yelled from the steps, "You go down there and cry, and I'll go up here and cry."

Hahaha...you can't go on being sad when people like Fatty exist: bumbling around, making jokes, cooking soup.

It's the same reason I love Mike. He'll come into my room when I'm sulking, call me a "sad sac," and say, "come on, lets go record. Play cards. Hang out with family--you don't know how much longer we have to do this."

Sometimes it's the very undelicate and unseemly things that make all the difference in a day. I want and I need those people in my life.