I used to laugh. Big, loud, bent over gasping for air kind of laughter. I thought I might be a comedian one day. That thought fizzled.
I was watching TV one night and saw the craziest commercial with a baby in a walker zooming through city streets, through the desert, across the country side. And I laughed out loud. Just laughed because it was so nutty, the baby was making such funny faces and the music the ad producers chose was impeccable. My laughter simmered down and I was left with the feeling that it had been a long time since I had laughed out loud. Why sure, I made the polite, "Ha" noise in response to a friend's story or chuckled mildly when my child did something goofy. But real laughter? No. It had been a while.
Growing up, my family laughed. Not all the time...we weren't demented. But enough to have it color all my childhood memories. I owe that laughter in large part to my mom. She knew how to have fun and how to be silly. One morning, I was the first daughter awake and I crawled into bed with my mom. Even though she had just been awoken, she regaled me with the funniest rendition of the Three Little Pigs, told in jive. To my ears, it was the most hysterical thing I ever heard. It was our special moment, for she never could repeat the story as she first told it to me. Later, there was a crazy tale of Aloe that had to be told in fits and starts, as she was gasping for breath between the laughter.
Dinnertime was special in our house, with the family sitting around the table talking about our day. Yes, we did look like the Cleavers. I loved it. Some dinners were mundane, quick affairs. Others would last an hour or longer, as we would get wound up and start guffawing amongst ourselves. I was an avid watcher of Comedy Central and would often reenact sketches I had heard comedians perform. To this day, if I am to utter, "Hello, Dad" with a slur, we all smile and snicker. I could make people laugh and I loved doing it.
On Christmas Eve, my mom was here with my family. The girls were in bed and my mom, stepson and I were hanging out in the kitchen nibbling sweets. My mom reached for some sugar spiced nuts and remarked, "I just love nuts!" It tickled my funny bone and I laughed. I had tears. I couldn't breathe and I needed the support of the counter to hold me up. I felt light and free and happy. To the core happy.
My mom colored my world as a child. She painted the days in bright colors with a huge brush, splashing laughter about the landscape as a necessary addition, not a chance encounter. And I realize I have not been doing that for my family. I haven't laughed. I smile, in a controlled, reserved sort of way. I even told my four year old why her joke wasn't amusing. Who tells a four year old that? Someone who has lost her sense of humor and her ability to live freely, largely, with abandon.
So this year, I will laugh. I will not simply smile. I will chortle and chuckle and snicker and snort. I will give my children the gift my mother gave to me. And this year will indeed be Happy!
