The good humour … no, black humour man!
Pat Fule
Fule for Thought
Okay, so I’m slowly coming out of my funk. I mean, it’s not every day that a 40-year-old mystery ends and you find out your dad killed your dog 40 years ago! Luckily my family and friends have been patient with me through this! In fact, one of the sure signs that I’m coming out of this, is that a friend has been able to joke about it with me, and he’s actually made me laugh!
You see, “black humour” is a thing I have used as a coping mechanism. Sometimes, when a situation has gotten too serious, or awkward, I’ll joke to ease the tension, or to cope with darker things.
After telling another person my dead dog story, one of my friends Brad, chimed in with a joke. “You know,” he said … “you lost Rusty as a kid and never knew. You remember that little kid living at your house when you were younger? The one they said went off one summer to join the circus? Well, that wasn’t a kid … that was your little brother, and there was no circus!”
Sure, that line was dark, but it also made me finally laugh, and right out loud! Then I told him that one of my relatives had taken my original news pretty calmly, without much of a reaction.
“Well that’s probably cuz he held the dog down just before … you know, bang!”
What can you do, but laugh in a situation like that?! Finally, I was able to think about it with a lot less pain. In fact, I even joined in!
“Yeah,” I said. “And now Rusty knows only two tricks: dead dog … and stay!”
I’m not proud of myself, but it made me deal with it easier!
It also reminds me of my never ending “battle of the bulge!”
I try and do the right things … start to make progress on trimming down, and then wham-O, I’m back to square one. Many people might let this really bring them down, but that’s when my “black humour” kicks in.
When I am feeling down about my weight, I like to tune in to a “little” show called “My 600 lb. Life!”
I’m not watching to laugh at, or ridicule people, but it makes me feel a lot better! I mean when I watch that show, I feel like an Olympic Champion … like I’ve been training for a marathon! It’s a better rush of those endorphins, than well, you know … an actual workout!
I’ve also read so many of those fitness articles that say “working out hard every day can add two to three years to your life.”
Maybe that’s true, but if you really, truly hate those hours in the weight room, how much of those two to three years you’ve added, are where you’re actually in the weight room hating it?!
Another example of black humour came from my childhood friend, Kirk. He and his parents were British, and got me hooked on British comedies like “Please Sir,” “Are You Being Served,” “Monty Python,” and my favorite: “Doctor in the House.”
Though it’s been probably 30 years since I’ve seen a “Doctor” episode, one has stuck with me. Like Frank Burns in MASH, the doctors in the British comedy hated Bingham, another young colleague. Prior to the crowded funeral of a highly respected hospital benefactor, the doctors got Bingham drunk. The dark, funny part was that Bingham was supposed to be playing the church organ at the funeral! At first, he started off slowly, with a dirge-like hymn. Within seconds though, he roared into a rocking version of “Good Golly, Miss Molly!”
It was priceless to see him pounding the keys like a crazy, plastered Jerry Lee! At first the congregation was stunned into silence, but strangely, they started to move, and jump to the tune! The young doctors hadn’t counted on the fact that the deceased loved parties and loud music, so they had been foiled!
Lastly, a reminder of my latest bout with this unexpected bit of black humour. As you may recall, I started to giggle in my uncle’s funeral as I stood in the family section. I had noticed the “Baby Jesus” was missing from the manger. In my head, I pictured people rushing to decorate the church for Christmas Eve, and forgetting the most important guest! I couldn’t help myself, and between muffled giggles, told my kids, and Deb. That’s when Breanne whispered to me that Jesus wasn’t in his spot because “it’s not Christmas Day yet, Dad … why would he be there?”
I had been disciplined by my own daughter! For a moment, I had found just a hint of light humor in a very sad time. I hope my uncle understood, and was shaking his head at me like the “old days!”
(“Fule for Thought” is a slice of life humourous column that appears in the Strathmore Times, written by long-time resident, town councillor, high school teacher, coach, husband and father of two – Pat Fule. If you would like to get in touch with Pat, you can send him an e-mail at Pat.fule@shaw.ca)