The Gift of Humor

 I made the Thanksgiving turkey for the first time this year. I read the instructions wrong on how to roast it in the oven, so when I finally pulled it out after keeping it in the oven for an hour too long, I pulled apart a terribly dry piece of chicken breast from the sad--but golden--turkey. Instead of being upset, I laughed with my mother when I talked about how dry the meat turned out. I was just relieved because I didn't burn the whole bird!

To me, humor is many things. Always, though, it's a gift shared best with others. Laughing all together at the dinner table with the dry turkey I made and a gravy concocted to combat it wouldn't have been the same if I was the only one to enjoy it. What makes me laugh with others is not nearly the same as what makes me laugh alone. In fact, few things will make me laugh in solitude. Maybe the occasional dry, sharp inhale at a funny video on TikTok. That's about it.

However, when I'm sitting in English class saying such stupid things that my friends and I can't help but laugh at it, I feel much more inclined to respond to such humor. It unites us. It leaves me with a warm, fuzzy feeling every time. Laughter is such a wonderful gift to share, so naturally, it just doesn't mean the same when I'm alone with nobody to share it with.

To finally set it straight, anything can make me laugh. However, I'd much prefer to share this humor and reaction with others. Laughter and humor are social tendencies at heart, so maybe that's why it generally comes easier in groups of people. I'd like to think of it as more than a natural inclination to bond with our fellow homo sapiens, though. It's a light in a world that's been dark for what feels like a few too many years, so instinct or not, I'll laugh at whatever I can, whatever I can, as long as I'm sharing my humor-inflicted joy with others.