Tag: family

Jokes

Eleven days ago, I graced the stage of The Funny Stop for the last time. (The club closed March 30th.) It was a bittersweet night. Seventeen friends came out to see me. I was as nervous and unprepared as always, and it still went well. I ended my performance with a story of the Owner who passed away a few years ago.

This is one of many ways I feel old, understand the speed of time, and have floods of regrets about ways I have squandered much. Sure, I can blame it on age, immaturity, mental illness, substance abuse, and the typical wildness of being young. But only in times like this do I realize how precious life is, how much the little moments matter the most, and how wild and unpredictable life is and can be.

The Funny Stop was my home. It was the home of so many new friends I made the last sixteen years. It was the place I began my comedy journey. It was the place I stepped out of my comfort zone and tried something new. It was the place I learned that performance high is the best there is. It was a place I found myself when I wasn’t even looking. And I will forever be grateful for the friends who pushed me there. It gave me a love I never dreamed of. It gave me an outlet. It fed my soul. It gave me life.

It also gave me bravery to stand in front of other strange crowds in places I had never been. And I never prepare. I don’t write jokes. And for the most part, I have absolutely no clue what I will say until I hear it with everyone else. That’s why I don’t drink when I do comedy. I want to know and remember what comes out of my mouth–especially if it works. I’ve used a few lines multiple times.

As I said, I don’t write material. I don’t have to. Life can be quite funny if you sit and think. There’s always a punchline if you look hard enough. And if I’m being honest, God gave me the ability to take normal happenings of everyday and bring them to life. God gave me the ability to tell stories. And I will be forever grateful.

Now to anyone who’s been to a show or even seen some video footage, one might argue that God did not give me that mouth. Technically, He did. It’s that free will that gets me in trouble. It’s that free will that hinders us all. I digress.

Back to comedy. I had no aspirations of ever stepping on a stage. I had no dreams of telling my life in that way. I wasn’t someone who had a favorite comedian or even watched comedy. And actually, I had my friends take me to an amateur show before I ever attempted it. I needed to see what it was all about. It wasn’t in my cards before, but God had other plans.

There’s something to be said about standing in front of 270 people wanting you to entertain them for an hour. That’s 540 eyes on you. It’s nerve wracking and scary to say the least. But the thrill and the challenge get you going. I once had a show that went so well, I had to stop talking three different times because the laughter was so loud that you couldn’t even hear me on the mic. That adrenaline kept me up for three days. It was amazing. It was a feeling I will never forget. And when I am old and my faculties have left me, I hope I have flashbacks. I hope when my loved ones are gathered around to say goodbye, I am overcome with a few of those moments. Because laughter is powerful. Stories are powerful. And when you can reach them with both? It is the best feeling in the entire world.

My grandmother had a best friend from childhood named Sonny. She moved to Texas and lived with her daughter. I met her shortly before graduating college with my first Master’s Degree when she came home for a visit upon the passing of her mother. She was an intellectual and highly intelligent. And strong, independent, and funny. We hit it off immediately. I loved talking to her. It was the quickest visit I ever had at my grandma’s. (Sonny later sent me a card with a check for $100 after I graduated. How sweet and generous was that? She had only met me once.)

Sonny had a hard life–like all the ladies her age seemed to. And at some point, as she had gotten older, it became increasingly difficult and seemingly impossible. She finally retired from her job and moved in with her daughter. I’m not sure why she had to, but she did. And her days of driving her BMW convertible came to an end. And the days of taking care of herself faded. She became severely depressed. Hospitalized several times. Before she knew about it, grandma would call her, but the communication became worse over time. She was no longer hearing from her. A couple years had gone by before Sonny’s daughter called grandma to tell her of Sonny’s condition and the seriousness of it. Grandma would call Sonny’s daughter to get updates.

I became heartbroken when I learned of all of this–not only for Sonny but also for my grandma who was losing one of her best friends. I was also sad for me. I was quite fond of that lady. She was classy, highly intelligent, eloquent in her speech, funny, kind, and generous. Her strength and independence were admirable. It was sad to hear she was slipping away.

I felt called to do something. I wanted to help. But what could I do? I did the only thing I knew. I wrote her a letter and told her of things I said at one of my comedy shows. I was hoping maybe she would snap out of it. (Her depression got so bad that she had to go through shock therapy.) I was hoping she would come alive again. I was hoping she would have the ability to crawl out of that deep, dark hole and call grandma once more. I prayed it would happen.

And as I type this, a few tears are welling up in my eyes. God answered my prayer. Several weeks later, when I went to visit my grandma, (which I did very often) she was so excited to tell me that Sonny was doing a little better. She said Sonny got my letter and read it and was able to laugh again. She was able to breathe and feel alive again–even if for a short time. She was able to call grandma again.

I never felt so humbled. So happy to be used. So alive in my purpose. So thankful for the gift of writing and the ability to tell stories in a funny way. It was then that I realized the power of laughter. It was then I realized the greatness of these gifts. It was then I became truly thankful for God giving me a gift I never asked for and answering prayers in an immediate and positive way.

Sonny didn’t live much longer, but for a short time, my grandma had her best friend back. It was great to hear and wonderful to see my grandma happy. I will never forget the feelings I was flooded with when I heard of her short return. And I will never take the gift of storytelling or making people laugh for granted again. It is powerful. It can bring people back and in turn, bring you back, too.

I hope Sonny was there to greet my other grandma and the others I’ve lost. I hope she remembers me. And I hope one day we can catch up again.

Thank God for small moments, friends who push you, and bravery when you need it. Thank God for the gifts we do not ask for, answered prayers when we need them, and the wisdom He shows us through those gifts and prayers. Thank God for laughter, jokes, and the ability to tell stories. To God be all the glory. Amen.

Accomplished

This past Monday, I met my best friend’s brother-in-law in her mother’s hospital room as she was actively dying. He came to say his goodbyes and deliver a message on behalf of his wife. Why she didn’t come to see her mother is beyond me. I digress.

Once he said goodbye, he sat down in a chair near the door and spoke to my friend for a bit. Then she and I switched chairs so she could resume her rightful spot at her mother’s left hand.

I didn’t know much about him. He was a recently-retired-Electrical Engineer. He had two kids, two grandkids, and another on the way. He built his new house a couple years ago, and now they lived an hour away from my best friend and her parents. He’s had a successful life by the world’s standards.

He was nervously chatting. He was also trying to lighten the mood in the room. That doesn’t make sense to me, but he tried his best at distraction. I digress.

When I sat down, he told me the polite “it’s nice to finally meet you” comment you say to people you have heard of a while ago but hadn’t met. Anyway–in the midst of talking about everything under the sun, he learned some things about me. My best friend told him of my writing, and we discussed the other things I have been doing since adulthood began many years ago: my education, screenwriting and the successes I’ve had with it so far, and doing standup comedy the last sixteen years. It wasn’t the typical, run-of-the-mill “American dream” that people are convinced they want when they allow the world to speak for them. It was my life. Nothing like his. And maybe even nothing like I thought at one point. I never gave it much thought for the most part. I was mostly trying to survive. And I kept myself busy while doing so.

And then he said something I was not at all expecting. He said to me “you must be proud to be so accomplished.” I turned to look at him. I’m not sure what my face said, but in my head, I didn’t agree. I could not relate to that idea. He reiterated. “You should feel accomplished.” I paused–trying to gather my thoughts and articulate them in a way that might give him a window into my mind. I shrugged my shoulders.

I hadn’t gotten to where I wanted to go. None of the things I was doing had amounted to anything in my mind. They haven’t gotten me anywhere or changed my life in any significant way. They hadn’t given me the freedom I’ve been longing for. These thoughts swirled. I said very little.

I turned to him again, nodding my head. “I’ve been busy. I’ve done a lot of things. Most of my friends have gotten married and had families and even have grandkids at this point. I never wanted any of that. I just do things. This is just how I have kept busy the last thirty years.” I felt defensive in a way–and not because I needed to be. I was just trying to convey that being or feeling accomplished looks different for everyone. And I didn’t see it for myself. I looked over at my best friend. My thoughts were of her, as I watched her hold her mother’s hand for what could be the last time.

The truth is–my best friend was the most accomplished person in the room. And not because she had degrees or a high-paying job or even a family of her own. She doesn’t have any of these things. She knew how to love. And she loved to the fullest. She lived to care for her parents. They were her world. She worked a full-time job while caring for her parents who were knocking on 90. One with dementia and the other with Alzheimer’s, she put their needs ahead of hers for years. I greatly admired her for this. She taught me what love was. She taught me what it does. And she taught me how to do it properly. And as I stood by, sometimes helping, it slowly softened my heart. It opened my eyes wider than they already were. It affected me in a way I can’t ever articulate. It made me want to be more like her.

“And these three remain: faith, hope, and love. And the greatest of these is love.” 1 Corinthians 13:13.

The greatest two commandments revolve around love. Love is an action. It’s service. It’s the very things Mother Theresa devoted her existence to. And now she’s in Heaven with God. And my best friend’s mother is with her. And one day, she will be with them, too. And I can only hope that when I get to the end of my life, I can say I was accomplished, too, because I loved.

May the Good Lord open our eyes, shows us what it truly means to be accomplished, and put the desire in our hearts to chase it. May God help us all to learn how to love. Amen.