Lighten Up
When did the world become so serious?
By Ron Ciancutti
While wandering through a gift shop recently, I came upon a shelf full of mugs and miniature trophies. Each was emblazoned with a bold line that read, “World’s Greatest Dad.” Because the habitual wise-cracker within me never sleeps, I muttered to the guy next to me, “Shouldn’t there only be one of those?” As often happens, my sarcasm was wasted on the fellow who said, “Whaddya mean?”
© Can Stock Photo / fotokita
Sigh. “I mean, there can only be one ’world’s greatest,’ right?” He looked at me like I had three heads and with a retort that indicated my parents were never married. For the record, they were.
Never wanting to let go of good sarcasm, I asked the same question of the cashier at the register. She got it, but only politely smiled. “Will you please stop now?” my wife pleaded. I did.
The following morning we had breakfast at a local joint that advertised eggs benedict as the special, which is one of my favorite dishes. When we received our meals, I asked the waitress to pass along my compliments to the chef, especially on the hollandaise sauce. When she returned, she said he appreciated the compliment and that the meal was an old family recipe. I said with a wink, “Well, there’s no place like home for the hollandaise.”
Thunk.
Nothing. The wife just stared at her avocado toast. That’s it. I give up.
Life’s Biggest Heroes
With that, I turned in my Johnny Carson decoder ring, my Alan Alda whoopee cushion, and my case of Burt Reynolds chewing gum. I’m going straight. But, your honor, let me plead my case.
I was born in 1960, and as I grew up, I was weaned on a steady diet of Don Rickles, The Tonight Show, M*A*S*H, Laugh-In, and Smokey and the Bandit movies. My heroes saw a laugh or sarcasm in everything they uttered. M*A*S*H’s Hawkeye Pierce even sounded like Groucho Marx when he delivered his lightning-fast jokes. Carson was always in trouble for speaking one too many quips, but he couldn’t help himself. And the louder Burt Reynolds snapped his gum, the saucier the comments became. I sucked it all up, did constant impressions, and always had a joke to tell. So, my parents allowed me to accumulate all this material and then sent me off to school after laughing at my original stuff. They were my biggest fans. My guns were loaded.
Punchlines From The Past
In third grade, while I was on the playground for recess, the gym teacher told the kids to patrol the yard for litter before returning to the building. “I don’t want to see any garbage,” he said. “Well, then you better get in the building first,” I said. A cold sweat broke out under my coat. Did I really just say that? His look confirmed it. As I bent over in the principal’s office holding my ankles and feeling the paddle, I knew I’d never forget it. But deep inside, I knew I’d do it again. It was a great line, perfectly timed.
Flash forward to sixth grade when I was captain of the Safety Patrol. It was a serious job—an honor—and I served it well. From the podium, the counselor introduced me on Parent’s Night and complimented me on the fine job I was doing. As I stepped to the microphone to say a few words, the counselor dropped the speech she was holding, sending paper everywhere. Without thinking, she bent over, her rear end facing the audience. Speaking into the microphone, I said, “Gee, folks, I bet you didn’t know there would be a full moon out tonight.” The men in the audience exploded with laughter, the women gasped. My mom was horrified, but my dad was hiding a grin. I must admit it was a great line with perfect timing. A week of detention followed. “Will the boy ever learn?”
In high school, it was time to grow up and shut up. I was the tenth-grade class president, and at a class assembly I led the students in the Pledge of Allegiance; afterward, I introduced a girl from the choir who was going to lead us in the national anthem, a cappella. As she began, she forgot the words. Instead of stopping or humming another song, she began to make up her own words, and they were not good. The faculty was horrified, the students were laughing, and she abruptly finished and ran off the stage in tears. Now, folks, to a sarcastic brat like me, this was a giant baseball pitched right over the plate just waiting to be smacked out of the park. Like in cartoons, I have a devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other. “Let her rip,” said the devil. I never even heard the angel. “Well, Stephanie, thank you for that original if not frightening rendition of uh … what? Well, keep your seats, folks. She’ll be back later with something she’s probably writing backstage now.” There was thunderous applause and laughter, but then I saw her mom sobbing with embarrassment. The next day I went to their house and apologized (even though teachers were winking and smiling at me all week).
Tone It Down
As you can imagine, I have plenty of these stories—all of which got me in progressively worse trouble. My college years were riddled with similar moments: great lines, well-timed, but completely inappropriate (to some). My awareness increased when I became familiar with the term “political correctness.” My problem was that I could take a joke; I almost enjoyed being teased or made fun of because then my retorts were allowed, even expected. But that’s the problem. I have a good sense of humor; therefore, I can defend myself and even fend off the teasing with my own snide remarks. Some folks, however, have a different view, so when they run off the stage crying or become a laughingstock among their peers, it’s pretty relentless, and I’ve learned to appreciate that.
I will do my best to stifle my remarks now. I’ll save my best material for family reunions among people who expect my wit. I’ve even started to understand some of the people who are offended when insults are made about their heritage or religion. I do wish, however, that everyone would lighten up a little. People usually aren’t malicious. If I can realize the error of my ways, perhaps the rest of the world can be more tolerant of an errant insult, a misspoken word, or an unintended jab. We all step out of place now and then.
Ron Ciancutti worked in the parks and recreation industry since he was 16 years old, covering everything from maintenance, operations, engineering, surveying, park management, design, planning, recreation, and finance. He is now retired. He holds a B.S. in Business from Bowling Green State University and an M.B.A. from Baldwin Wallace University. He is not on Facebook, but he can be reached at ron@northstarpubs.com.