Laughter is Our Music
Photo Courtesy | Melissa Face
BY MELISSA FACE
“They came by it honestly,” my grandmother used to say in reference to one of us grandchildren inheriting a trait from a family member. In my case, it was my love of playing practical jokes and making people laugh.
I have fond memories of my dad waking me up to look at freshly fallen snow on the grass or deer in the front yard, only to realize it was April 1, and he got me. Again. I remember gag gifts at Christmas, a pair of mustard yellow high top sneakers and my aunt’s outrageous cackle when an unsuspecting relative opened the gift.
I was raised on jokes and laughter the same way some people grow up with guitars and pianos. Laughter is my music and the soundtrack to my life.
On family vacations, my sister, my cousins, and I used to enjoy short-sheeting the adults’ beds while they were downstairs watching a movie. And we didn’t stop there. We also found that a suitcase stuffed inside a pillowcase didn’t look at all unusual on the bed. How hilarious to picture our uncle bumping his head on a suitcase when he climbed into his cozy bed later that night!
When my parents drove us to Disney World, my sister and I snagged job applications from fast food restaurants. We filled them out in the backseat, requesting that we only work “a one-hour shift, once per week” and that we had “proficient skills with Nerf guns and plungers.” We never submitted the applications or even showed them to anyone else, but our laughter fueled us from Virginia to Florida.
In college, I discovered text-to-speech on my computer. I used it to call my parents when I knew they wouldn’t be home so I could leave ridiculous messages on their answering machine. I invited them to pool parties and awarded them prizes for contests they had never entered. They knew I had done it, and for some reason that didn’t make it any less funny. I sat in my dorm room and delightedly orchestrated my next prank.
It makes perfect sense that my husband (who is a jokester in his own right) and I have been gifted children who thrive on pranking us. My grandmother’s voice still echoes around me, “They came by it honestly.” She’s right.
Throughout the years, my children have hidden rubber snakes and plastic bugs in places they knew I would find startling. I once screamed at the sight of a beetle in my bed, then found it didn’t move when I smacked it repeatedly with my shoe. I have yelled in the thick of a prank, but I haven’t really gotten mad. They are my prodigies, after all.
More recently, my children have wanted to include their grandparents in some practical jokes. After one of their overnight visits, my dad called and asked if the kids had mentioned anything about their stay. “We found some strange things in our bed when we were getting ready to go to sleep the other night,” he said. “There were VHS tapes under my pillow and a box of microwave popcorn under your mom’s.” I told him I was sure my kids knew how the items got there.
My mom sets out a glass turkey every Thanksgiving. He isn’t a true decoration; he’s actually a cologne bottle. But we really like him; the kids have named him Tyler, and they believe that he should be displayed more than once per year. They move him to a different location each time we visit my parents. My mom eventually notices him perched on her dresser or peeking out from among the dolls in her cabinet. She puts him away again until the kids return for their next visit.
This year, my dad turned 74. I was struggling with a gift idea because he doesn’t wear ties anymore and he doesn’t need any books. We often resort to a restaurant gift card or a framed photo of the kids when we can’t think of anything else. I was commenting that my dad’s birthday was only a week away and I still didn’t have anything for him when my son put his arm around me and said, “Pop needs a rubber chicken.”
I laughed. “A rubber chicken? Why does he need one of those?”
“Because it’s funny,” my son said. “It will make him laugh.”
The next day, I went online and ordered a rubber chicken; I even paid a little extra to be sure it arrived in time for my dad’s birthday party. I have never seen anyone more excited than my children were to present this gift to their grandfather. His reaction was just what we’d hoped for: he laughed and laughed and said, “Well, no one has ever given me a rubber chicken before!”
Today I am at work, digging through my lunch bag in search of a snack when I remember that I allowed my children to pack my lunch last night. What was I thinking? I have a clothespin and a purple hole puncher in my bag — nothing edible.
I laugh alone in my classroom and picture my kids snickering as they think about pranking their mother. For the last hour of my work day, my stomach rumbles; I’m starving. My gut is completely empty, but my soul is so full.
MELISSA FACE is the author of I Love You More Than Coffee: Essays on Parenthood and a 25-time contributor to the Chicken Soup for the Soul series. She writes regularly for Tidewater Family Magazine and Richmond Family Magazine and teaches English at the Appomattox Regional Governor’s School for the Arts and Technology. Follow Melissa on Facebook and Instagram @melissafacewrites.