I would rather be dead than go through life not being able to find humour in the tragic. One of the endearing things about my grandson is that his 6 year old mind can trigger a laugh when a train goes off the bridge and crashes into the gorge. Pity those who go through life only seeing the fine print.
One friend of mine endured 18 weeks of intense displeasure at the hands of those much practiced in the art of disquieting the soul. Humour had no place in open discussion, but my friend persisted in trying to introduce parody into what was a surreal experience for many of us. True, he sometimes threw a barb my way but not so much to humiliate, but to humble. At one point, when faced with his removal from the programme, I spoke out and hoped against their judgement. My friend stayed the course and in keeping with tradition passed out thank you cards to our minders. On one card, to one woman, he wrote an invitation to create progeny. I believe Nelson Mandela had a similar relationship with his prison jailer and they got along afterwards. Not so here. The pitchforks came out and the torches were lit. That the woman in question had graduate degrees in psychology proved inadequate to her ability to read between the fine print and see that she was attractive, loved, and in the end truly thanked.
Gosh, I thought it was funny.
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