Story Time, part 3
A couple of years ago, I wrote a post called "Story Time, part 1" in which I collected several anecdotes from my early childhood into one long telling. I received loads of feedback from people saying it was one of the funniest things they'd ever read, and it was really great for me to be able to relive the stories.
I've since then began to write something called "Story Time, part 2" no less than three different times, every time failing to actually finish anything, so I'm officially giving up on that and going to Story Time, part 3.
Only one anecdote, here, but maybe it'll get my Young Matt Silliness muscle shaped up again enough to continue this sort of thing more frequently.
THE JOKE (Or why one shouldn't use languages one doesn't understand)
When I was in first grade, and probably a year or or so on either side of that, my dad and I were in an organization called Indian Guides. It was sponsored by the YMCA, and was sort of a cub-scout-like group which involved boys and their dads, and we'd do campouts and take tours of places, and other various sorts of things.
What I remember most, however, are the Monday night weekly meetings. For an hour each Monday, we'd all get together at someone's house, and talk, and have snacks, and usually do some kind of craft or game or something (at one meeting we used a woodburner kit to burn our "Indian names" and a corresponding picture onto a leather disc — I found my dad's "Buffalo" one not long ago one time when I was back in Lubbock). Great memories of this also include the occasional trip by Putt-Putt Golf to play Pac-Man or Missile Command at the arcade, or rushing home to watch That's Incredible on TV.
One of the key moments in any of the weekly meetings, however, was during the sort of makeshift opening ceremony, which included, in addition to a very politically incorrect prayer to the Great Spirit (which, as I recall, really got the Christian Right all up in arms several years later, since it wasn't a three letter word beginning with G and ending in d, so it couldn't possibly be their god) was a few moments where we'd go around the circle and each individual, old or young, could make an announcement (birthdays were popular things to talk about), provide some little bit of wisdom, or tell a joke.
This joke bit particularly intrigued me. As a first grader, I was quite the attention hound, especially in a forum where I felt like I could rehearse ahead of time. I was also kind of shy, though, and had trouble getting the spotlight on my own without some help, so this was an ideal circumstance.
Unfortunately, as a first grader, I had a pretty terrible sense of humor. Actually, I had an abysmal sense of humor.
Even then I was obsessed with witticisms of my own creation, oddly enough (or oddly to me, anyway), no one ever laughed. So I'd try to explain my joke. And still no one would get it. And they'd even ask questions trying to understand. And that only made it worse. And I'd explain more. And more.
Lesson learned: If the joke flops, let it lie. If the joke really flops, give up comedy.
As you may have guessed, I learned the first half of the lesson, but not the second.
Realizing after a few failed attempts that my skills of comedy writing required a few years of maturing, I went to the next best thing — jokes which made others laugh. Given that my friends weren't such great joke tellers themselves (and since half of them were in the group, it would have been dumb to tell a joke right back to them), the only other source, really, was my dad.
My dad told jokes all the time, and people usually laughed at them, and sometimes I got them, and sometimes I didn't, and I think I could tell the sort of dirty ones, but not always. Key concept there.
Anyway, next time an Indian Guides meeting rolled around, I was prepared. My parents had had some friends over, and I'd made sure my ears were peeled for a good joke, and I had picked up one that seemed to fit the bill.
So it came around to me. "I have a joke!" I announced.
"You didn't make this one up did you?"
"No," I said, a little hurt, but proud of of my waiting joke, nonetheless (and boy wouldn't that have been funny if I'd said "Yes.").
"Alright," they said. "Lay it on us."
"Okay," I said with a flourish. "How is a nun like 7-Up?" I asked. A couple of the adults squirmed in their seats, but oddly, no one said anything.
"I don't know, Matthew?"
"Never had it, never will!" I proclaimed, triumphantly.
The silence that followed was overwhelming.
I looked at everyone expectantly.
The kids' faces seemed very perplexed. The adults faces looked at me for any sign of actually understanding the joke. And at my dad's face for any sign of recognizing where the joke came from.
Finally recognizing that the silence was even more awkward than just playing along, a few of the adults gave token laughs. "Heh. Heh."
At any rate, the particularly funny part of this story is that obviously I had no idea what the joke was about. I knew what nuns were, but had no idea what sex was at that time, and particularly no idea about any relation between nuns and the sex I didn't know what was. I had some weird theory that "nun" is roughly congruent to "none", which has nothing, or something of the sort. Even then it was a mystery to me why my dad's friends thought this was so funny, but I figured that maybe the pun's peculiar cleverness was beyond me.
No, what makes it really funny is that I had no idea what the joke meant at the time, and more or less erased the incident from my brain out of embarrassment. Until about four years ago. When for no reason, suddenly it all came back to me with a strange cognitive trigger. And for the first time I got the joke. And I realized what I'd said (nothing too terrible, mind you, but still pretty racy for a first grader). And was embarrassed for my first grade self's behalf. And for my poor dad, whose joke indiscretion was now on display for all to see.
Anyway, be careful who you say things around. You never know what will turn up in their first foray into public speaking. . . .
I've since then began to write something called "Story Time, part 2" no less than three different times, every time failing to actually finish anything, so I'm officially giving up on that and going to Story Time, part 3.
Only one anecdote, here, but maybe it'll get my Young Matt Silliness muscle shaped up again enough to continue this sort of thing more frequently.
THE JOKE (Or why one shouldn't use languages one doesn't understand)
When I was in first grade, and probably a year or or so on either side of that, my dad and I were in an organization called Indian Guides. It was sponsored by the YMCA, and was sort of a cub-scout-like group which involved boys and their dads, and we'd do campouts and take tours of places, and other various sorts of things.
What I remember most, however, are the Monday night weekly meetings. For an hour each Monday, we'd all get together at someone's house, and talk, and have snacks, and usually do some kind of craft or game or something (at one meeting we used a woodburner kit to burn our "Indian names" and a corresponding picture onto a leather disc — I found my dad's "Buffalo" one not long ago one time when I was back in Lubbock). Great memories of this also include the occasional trip by Putt-Putt Golf to play Pac-Man or Missile Command at the arcade, or rushing home to watch That's Incredible on TV.
One of the key moments in any of the weekly meetings, however, was during the sort of makeshift opening ceremony, which included, in addition to a very politically incorrect prayer to the Great Spirit (which, as I recall, really got the Christian Right all up in arms several years later, since it wasn't a three letter word beginning with G and ending in d, so it couldn't possibly be their god) was a few moments where we'd go around the circle and each individual, old or young, could make an announcement (birthdays were popular things to talk about), provide some little bit of wisdom, or tell a joke.
This joke bit particularly intrigued me. As a first grader, I was quite the attention hound, especially in a forum where I felt like I could rehearse ahead of time. I was also kind of shy, though, and had trouble getting the spotlight on my own without some help, so this was an ideal circumstance.
Unfortunately, as a first grader, I had a pretty terrible sense of humor. Actually, I had an abysmal sense of humor.
Even then I was obsessed with witticisms of my own creation, oddly enough (or oddly to me, anyway), no one ever laughed. So I'd try to explain my joke. And still no one would get it. And they'd even ask questions trying to understand. And that only made it worse. And I'd explain more. And more.
Lesson learned: If the joke flops, let it lie. If the joke really flops, give up comedy.
As you may have guessed, I learned the first half of the lesson, but not the second.
Realizing after a few failed attempts that my skills of comedy writing required a few years of maturing, I went to the next best thing — jokes which made others laugh. Given that my friends weren't such great joke tellers themselves (and since half of them were in the group, it would have been dumb to tell a joke right back to them), the only other source, really, was my dad.
My dad told jokes all the time, and people usually laughed at them, and sometimes I got them, and sometimes I didn't, and I think I could tell the sort of dirty ones, but not always. Key concept there.
Anyway, next time an Indian Guides meeting rolled around, I was prepared. My parents had had some friends over, and I'd made sure my ears were peeled for a good joke, and I had picked up one that seemed to fit the bill.
So it came around to me. "I have a joke!" I announced.
"You didn't make this one up did you?"
"No," I said, a little hurt, but proud of of my waiting joke, nonetheless (and boy wouldn't that have been funny if I'd said "Yes.").
"Alright," they said. "Lay it on us."
"Okay," I said with a flourish. "How is a nun like 7-Up?" I asked. A couple of the adults squirmed in their seats, but oddly, no one said anything.
"I don't know, Matthew?"
"Never had it, never will!" I proclaimed, triumphantly.
The silence that followed was overwhelming.
I looked at everyone expectantly.
The kids' faces seemed very perplexed. The adults faces looked at me for any sign of actually understanding the joke. And at my dad's face for any sign of recognizing where the joke came from.
Finally recognizing that the silence was even more awkward than just playing along, a few of the adults gave token laughs. "Heh. Heh."
At any rate, the particularly funny part of this story is that obviously I had no idea what the joke was about. I knew what nuns were, but had no idea what sex was at that time, and particularly no idea about any relation between nuns and the sex I didn't know what was. I had some weird theory that "nun" is roughly congruent to "none", which has nothing, or something of the sort. Even then it was a mystery to me why my dad's friends thought this was so funny, but I figured that maybe the pun's peculiar cleverness was beyond me.
No, what makes it really funny is that I had no idea what the joke meant at the time, and more or less erased the incident from my brain out of embarrassment. Until about four years ago. When for no reason, suddenly it all came back to me with a strange cognitive trigger. And for the first time I got the joke. And I realized what I'd said (nothing too terrible, mind you, but still pretty racy for a first grader). And was embarrassed for my first grade self's behalf. And for my poor dad, whose joke indiscretion was now on display for all to see.
Anyway, be careful who you say things around. You never know what will turn up in their first foray into public speaking. . . .