HUMOUR: Is it essential medicine?
Humour is the great thing, the saving thing. The minute it crops up, all our irritation and resentments slip away, and a sunny spirit takes their place.
Mark Twain
Is it possible the most insulting remark you can make to another human being, leaving aside comments on appearance, ancestry or missing brain cells, might be to say, ‘You just don’t have a sense of humour?’
Humour, allegedly is what separates us from the animals. Although personally, I’ve always been persuaded, even at the risk of extreme anthropomorphism, that animals have a sense of fun. Ergo, they have a sense of humour. I suspect anybody who’s ever owned a horse might be inclined to agree. Likewise dog owners, who are well aware that some of their four legged friends are natural clowns.
Cats, on occasion do permit themselves the hint of a smile at the folly or mishaps of humans, canines and fellow felines. Although they hate, with a passion, being laughed at should they execute a crash landing instead of an elegant leap, or be outsmarted by potential prey. This matter of laughter, however, can be tricky where children are concerned because, like cats, they don’t always join in the amusement caused by their cute antics. And as the line between derision and affection can be quite slim, there’s room for misinterpretation of the hoots and giggles.
As a child of seven or eight, I wrote with great feeling and earnestness, using screeds of paper, and umpteen pencil leads, a tale of a cowboy and his faithful horse. It was my magnum opus, a tragedy that would bring a tear to the eye. It did that all right but not quite as I’d intended. It caused so much merriment to my older brother that his laughter, certainly affectionate and perhaps even admiring (I never knew) rang in my ears for many a year. I was mortified! As a seven year old the distinction between being laughed at and laughed with is not easily made.
Actually, the same sort of thing applies when making errors in a foreign language. Some of my French friends are chuckling to this day over some of my particular bêtises and one drew so much mirth it nearly caused a car accident. But that’s the nice thing about being seventy-odd and not seven. You can generally tell whether the humour is good natured or not. Besides, I thought the bêtises were quite amusing too. And there’s always the possibility of revenge should they make similar ones en anglais!
When I’m feeling in need of some merriment and there’s nothing or no one around to provide it, I have a few back up books and DVD’s that generally do the trick. It’s essential to have emergency rations for the duller days and nothing beats having a good laugh. However, to offer up my list might be a step too far, and provoke groans, moans and a weary, ‘Oh, please! Surely she doesn’t think that’s funny!’
Humour is such an immensely personal thing and what has one individual rolling in the aisles leaves another stony-faced. Indeed, even more than personal it’s tribal and cultural too, as anyone knows when listening to a stand-up comic in another country or another language. If you’re not a native speaker, and even if you are, a translation often has to be made. And we all know what happens in translation.
There’s increasing evidence there are strong neuro-physiological reasons why absolutely hooting with laughter can do you so much good; and why that old saying, ‘laughter is the best medicine,’ is absolutely true. Although perhaps hospital patients need to exercise a little caution, should the mirth be so intense it causes stitches to break.
What makes real laughter so wonderful and refreshing is its ability to transform low energy into something warm, tolerant and unifying. You can be ‘weak from laughter’ as the saying goes but it’s a weakness that builds strength. Besides, when you’ve had a good laugh with somebody and shared a joke, it’s pretty difficult to start a fight with them. Either domestically, nationally or globally. Although of course, the caveats mentioned earlier need to be observed, lest one mistakenly and with the best intentions, ignites world war three.
When tears or tantrums are on the horizon, threatening us with an emotional see-saw ride, laughter can restore the balance. I salute the unknown sage who said, ‘Every survival kit should include a sense of humour.’ For sure, I’m going to keep packing it in my own survival kit until the very end. Maybe I’ll be lucky enough to be like my mother, who died laughing. What could possibly be a better exit?