My Dear Abby–
Your recent facebook post intrigued me.
You asked “What fiction narratives shaped your life, and how?”
Strangely enough, the first book that came to my mind was Uncle Wiggily and his Friends, which I read–or, rather, which my father read to me, my head against his chest and his baritone voice vibrating through me–when I was 4 or 5. Of course, I admired Uncle Wiggily’s  stalwart adventurousness, and the rabbit gentleman’s unfailing courtesy, kindness, and old world charm. He certainly did have a sense of fashion and personal style, as well. But what really changed my world was how each story would end.

And, if the loaf of bread doesn’t get a toothache and jump out of the oven into the dishpan, next time I’ll tell you about how Uncle Wiggily Learns to Dance.

And in the next story, if the moving picture doesn’t run so fast that it jumps out of the window and scares our cat soshe falls into the milk bottle, I’ll tell you about Uncle Wiggily and the Snow Plow.

And if the snow man doesn’t come in our house and sit by the gas stove until he melts into a puddle of molasses, I’ll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and The Red Spots.

These statements were just so absurd, so silly, and there they were—in black and white! A book could be silly and crazy! Now, I was used to silliness: my dad and his brothers were silly and witty and droll, as were many of my relativies on both side of the family. However, if I book could be silly, if words on a page in black and white could be silly, then anything was possible. I could be just as silly as my uncles, I could be just as silly as Howard R. Garis or Jim Henson; Life could be relished with a hint of absurdity, its pain dulled with its inherent ludicrousness.

I memorized a book of 101 Elephant Jokes:

What’s the difference between an elephant and a plum?
The color!

What did Tarzan say when he saw the elephants coming?
“Here come the elephants!”

Why do elephants have wrinkly knees?
From playing marbles.

What did Jane say when she saw the elephants coming?
“Here come the plums!”
(She was colorblind.)

I wrote funny plays and drew cartoons in elementary school. I acted all the way through High School and College, my favorites still being Shakespearean Comedy. Although teaching may seem like the ideal stage for stand-up, baby-sitting other people’s kids and then parenting my own daughter were the ideal situations for being silly. The fact is, kid’s are not really that funny or imaginative. However, they can become funny and imaginative if you set a good example. I spent a lot of time clowning and miming and being silly so that my daughter could also grow up to be silly. Besides The Sweet Potato Song, Grace also grew up with tunes like:

Oooooooh The needles are prickley, but the water is fine;
that’s why squid don’t live in the pine!

Oooooooh Opposible thumbs is what they lacks;
that’s why grizzly bears don’t file income tax!

I don’t generally tell jokes–they seem like other people’s stories. I prefer witty or absurdist commentary on a specific context. Occasionally, things like singing about 19th century to a Johnny Cash tune. Or remembering a college friend with a kids’ story. When I do tell a joke, it’s generally something simple like:

Two men walk into a bar. The third man ducks.

It is simple, elegant, almost Haiku-like. It plays on expectations and ideas. And, of course, it has the word “duck” in it, which makes anything funnier.

I also like to tell the story about the unluckiest man in Ireland, but I won’t tell it here because it is too long. It also is the closest I come to saying anything theological, so I only tell it to close friends.

Humor is how I deal with things. By treating big things with a great deal of silliness, it makes them smaller, and takes away some of the fear and power that they have. At my Grandfather’s funeral, my dad and his brothers told old family stories and did Marx brothers routines until we were all crying.

“Talcum Powder, Sir? Walk this way.”
“If I could walk that way, I wouldn’t need the talcum powder.”

I still use it to deal with whatever the world throws at me. Humor has gotten me through grad-school, losing jobs, losing friends, dialysis, heart-break, and might just get me through the current economy.

Tennessee weather: seldom arctic, but often bi-polar.

On the average, Tennessee drivers are the best in the world–on the average.
Of course, that means for every driver going 90 there is one going 15, and for every driver who never signals, there is one who never turn their signal off, and for every driver who cuts you off, there is one who can’t even merge.
But on the average….

Chicago? It has Hipsters the way new York has rats, which I mean, of course, as another point in New York’s favor.

The Little Red Hen?
It’s a children’s version of Atlas Shrugged.

I told my doctor I was depressed. She asked if I had suicidal or homicidal thoughts. I said: “I’m in retail; of course I have homicidal thoughts.”
She said: “I’ve been in retail; that’s perfectly normal.”

Yes, I do specialize in artisan-made hand-crafted snark and free-range organic wit. Yes, I have co-workers and students who show up just to see what crazy thing I am going to say that day. Yes, it sometimes gets out of hand, and I apologize for that…
But only when it gets out of hand and I forget to be kind. Being funny is no excuse, either.

So, don’t be afraid of being silly. Find humor where you can, and make somebody laugh. Making somebody in elementary school giggle is best, but even if you can make a co-worker smile with a silly visual joke like this one…….

……..that’s good too.

…and, unless the iPhone and android forget their social media and are reduced to silence. leaving us to communicate with semaphore ducks, next time we will discuss Slowness and Aristotolian Virtues.

Until next week, I am, and will remain, your silly friend, dramatic but funny story-teller, misguided cattle-rustler, loyal knight, obedient camel, elephant, a person who can make you smile, and even LOL, etc.