Laughing

If you know me at all -- heck, if you're in the same restaurant as me, or even anywhere in the VERY LARGE auditorium where a comedy is being presented -- you know I'm a laugher.  I enjoy myself mightily, but over the years, it's been a bit problematic.

My dear mother -- may she rest in peace with only angelic voices around her -- suffered agonies in every public place where my Dad and I would find something amusing.  She had a good sense of humor all her own, but faced with the potential of staring strangers, she'd whisper, "Paul! Linda! For goodness' sake..."  We, of course, were un-thoughtfully incorrigible and blithely reinforced our own delicious appreciation of life's silliness.  It would have been good if we could have stuck with discreet snickers, but I get my actor's voice from Dad, and when the punchlines came, we just let loose and guffawed; we roared, we slapped the table, we hee-hawed like any rube in the big city for the first time.

In church, too -- Oh, if I had a nickel for every time someone said to me (smiling, lovingly, to be sure) "I heard you in church today, Linda."  I used to worry that I was too loud, too un-genteel, too disruptive of someone's worship.  But after a few decades in the pews, I figure it's the least I can do.  Most preachers have worked hard to inject something light into their sermons, whether it's a quirky reflection or a canned Joke for Liturgical Occasion.  Why shouldn't I reward them for their efforts?  How will they know they've been successful if we all sit there stifling our delight?  Naah; I couldn't do it anyway, so why try?  Abraham laughed, Sarah laughed -- sheesh, David danced before the Lord!  They should just be grateful I never studied ballet.