It is always a little disconcerting when I find things, familiar from my childhood, in antique shops. This is happening more and more often. Not because I shop for antiques a lot but because I, personally, am becoming an antique.
Recently, I went shopping for antique doorknobs. I have a thing (a negative thing) about matching doorknobs which are, in my opinion, dull and unattractive. I'm afraid I'll die of boredom if all my doorknobs match. I realize, in light of record unemployment, a fragile global economy, and an emotion filled upcoming election, doorknobs might seem a teeny bit trivial. They are. I recognize that. But, the antique ones still make me happy.
Anyway, the last time I was canvassing antique shops I came across a number of items that were familiar; things I played with as a child, a few appliances we had when I was growing up. I was particularly drawn to a portable record player made of heavy pressed cardboard, covered with decorative paper. It had a lid that closed over the platter, volume knobs, and stylus arm. The lid was secured by a sturdy metal latch situated under a hinged, plastic handle.
I had a record player just like that, along with a few recordings that I listened to tirelessly. My favorite song was, 'The Thousand Legged-Worm.'
Said the thousand legged worm as he gave a little squirm, has anybody seen a leg of mine? For if it can't be found, I shall have to hop around on the other nine hundred ninety nine.
Okay, so I'm guessing the author of that lyric didn't get a Nobel prize for literature, but, like antique doorknobs, those words made me happy. They were my first introduction to humor. Not uproarious humor, maybe. But secretly, I thought they were funny and especially enjoyed the irony.
I kept my delight a secret because humor was something of a foreign concept in our family. Life was awfully serious. I honestly don't remember anyone laughing about anything. The effect of our humorless home was that I thought something was wrong with me when my quirky, offbeat sense of humor reared its head. It happened often. I couldn't help it. Humor became my guilty little secret. Sort of like porn. But funnier. And with fewer naked people.
As a teenager I started to notice other people who had a sense of humor and I realized maybe I wasn't so odd after all. I was fascinated by those who said things I found funny. Although by this time my psyche has been badly bruised, I discovered that laughter had extravagant healing powers.
When I was a senior in high school my mother's new husband decided he wanted to move to another, larger, town. Not wanting to be bothered with pesky mothering responsibilities, my mom went along with his plan (which did not include me) and the two of them moved off and left me to fend for myself. I was 17 and homeless but, fortunately, my best friend's mother graciously allowed me move in with them. Their family had experienced its own share of tragedy but, unlike my own family, this family allowed laughter to permeate the pain. I watched as they joked and shared in a familial humor so foreign to me. The presence of humor and laughter calmed my spirit.
Within their welcoming embrace, laughter became something I did every day and, freed from the oppression of my own humorless family, I unleashed my oddball humor into the world. I'd like to say my humor is universally appreciated. It isn't. But, it doesn't much matter. Like mismatched doorknobs and centipedes making the best of missing appendages, it makes me happy.
In my world, a day without laughter is a day wasted. I wish I'd said that originally, but I didn't. Charlie Chaplin did.
I think he was on to something.
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