Laughter Is the Best Medicine
Everyone has experienced some kind of pain. A personal injury or the loss of a loved one can be devastating. Perhaps finding some humor in the situation could ease this pain. This is something that I depend on in my times of need, and it works every time. So whether my pain is physical or emotional, I believe that laughter makes all of life’s mishaps better.
Laughter can be very private thing – an inward smile you keep to yourself, a tender smile to a baby or an animal. Laughter can be too polite too – to make someone feel better. Remember that awful joke your friend told? The one that made no one smile. Still you did not want her to feel bad and laughed nevertheless?
Growing up in the happy family, I was taught the effectiveness of laughter in relieving pain from an early age. When I was eight, my grandmother passed away. At such a young age, I could not fully comprehend what it meant to be deceased. What did my parents mean she was never coming back? Was she lost? Is she just going on another trip with grandpa? Once I went to her funeral, the concept of death finally began to sink in. I saw her body lying delicately in the casket. At that point I began to cry. The thought of never seeing my grandma, the woman who taught me how to play go fish and secretly gave me ice cream before dinner, overwhelmed me. I continued to cry until a felt and arm on top of my shoulder. It was my father. He bent down on one knee and said to me “Well at least now you only have to put up with Pop-Pop tickling you.” At which point he began to tickle me and said, “And me too of course.” Somehow, through the tears and pain, I smiled and began to laugh.
When I was nine, I found humor again in an injury received when I was hit with a ball by my brother. My brother and I went out to play a little soccer on the field before the bus came. I told him I did not even know how to kick a ball, but he forced me out anyway. The sun had not even risen yet and the skies were still dark. The smell of
Laughter can be very private thing – an inward smile you keep to yourself, a tender smile to a baby or an animal. Laughter can be too polite too – to make someone feel better. Remember that awful joke your friend told? The one that made no one smile. Still you did not want her to feel bad and laughed nevertheless?
Growing up in the happy family, I was taught the effectiveness of laughter in relieving pain from an early age. When I was eight, my grandmother passed away. At such a young age, I could not fully comprehend what it meant to be deceased. What did my parents mean she was never coming back? Was she lost? Is she just going on another trip with grandpa? Once I went to her funeral, the concept of death finally began to sink in. I saw her body lying delicately in the casket. At that point I began to cry. The thought of never seeing my grandma, the woman who taught me how to play go fish and secretly gave me ice cream before dinner, overwhelmed me. I continued to cry until a felt and arm on top of my shoulder. It was my father. He bent down on one knee and said to me “Well at least now you only have to put up with Pop-Pop tickling you.” At which point he began to tickle me and said, “And me too of course.” Somehow, through the tears and pain, I smiled and began to laugh.
When I was nine, I found humor again in an injury received when I was hit with a ball by my brother. My brother and I went out to play a little soccer on the field before the bus came. I told him I did not even know how to kick a ball, but he forced me out anyway. The sun had not even risen yet and the skies were still dark. The smell of