Finding Balance in Humor

Giovanni Ferrari

English C/D

Mrs. T. Meadows

February 14, 2011

                                    

I believe humor balances out the negative. I learned the value of humor in life, when my dog died.

It was two days after New Years,  and my family and I were at our beach house. I was idly watching TV, my parents were sleeping, and my sister was listening to music outside, probably lying on the hammock. Suddenly, my sister rushes into the TV room, cradling the dog in her hands. The dog was foaming at the mouth, and she had a wild look in her eyes. I rushed upstairs and woke up my parents. They tried to wash her mouth out, assuming she’d bit a frog. We saw that she was getting worse, and I carried her outside, to try to flush the poison out with a house. We tried to help her recover from the poison, but it was useless. The paralyzing poison reached her heart and brain, and she grew stiff and cold, like a rock. I felt numb, so did everyone else, but we knew there was nothing else to do. We quietly packed up everything and went back home, with the dog wrapped in a towel.

The next day, my mom stayed in bed, sobbing. We all tried to comfort her, but to no avail. My older brother was holding the other, younger dog we had. He was looking sad, or at least serious, as if sensing the mood. Suddenly, without changing his solemn demeanor, the dog farted once, loudly right in my brother’s arms. A sour stink enveloped the room, and my brother made a sound of disgust, and proceeded to nudge the dog out the door with his foot. As he did this, my dad commented: “Maybe that’s why he looked so sad… He knew after he let that one rip, he was going to be kicked out.”

            We all cracked up in, in varying degrees. Maybe it was the look of disgust on my brother’s face, or my dad’s goofy grin, or a combination of both. Even my mom was laughing, and soon we let the dog in, hearing his indignant barks echoing outside.

           

It’s been three years since my dog died. Over the course of those years, two more dogs we had have died. But instead of grieving and dwelling on their deaths, I moved on, and remembered their quirks and oddities, like how one was a bit dumb and crashed into glass doors, or how the other was overweight and sometimes stole her puppies’ food. I remember them as they were, and all the times they made me laugh. I remember the humor they brought into my life. That day, although everyone was saddened by the death of our dog, I learned something. I learned that humor is as good a medicine as any. I learned to look at things humorously. I was able to deal with what was thrown at me, and changed my outlook on things.

I agree with the poet William Arthur Ward: “A well-developed sense of humor is the pole that adds balance to your steps as you walk the tightrope of life.”

            I found balance in humor. I believe in humor, and its power.