How Humor Helped Me Connect

Looking back, I wasn’t always the funny kid.

From kindergarten through third grade, I was quiet. I made the honor roll. I stayed out of trouble. If my teachers had described me back then, “class clown” probably wouldn’t have made the list.

That version of me existed while my parents were still together.

My mom had left my dad a few times when I was younger, but by fourth grade she was gone for good. I ended up in a new school, living in a new reality that I never asked for and didn’t understand.

As a kid, you don’t see relationships the way adults do. You don’t think about whether two people are good for each other. You don’t see years of arguments, resentment, or unhappiness. You just know what feels normal.

My family wasn’t perfect, but it was my family.

I wanted it back.

For a long time, I was convinced my parents would get back together. Every time my mom had left before, she eventually came home. I figured this time would be no different.

Then there was a new guy.

The man who would eventually become my stepdad and someone I would grow to love and respect was, at the time, just the obstacle standing between me and the life I wanted back.

I fought it in every way a kid knows how.

I acted out at home. I acted out at school. I got sent to counseling. I got put on Ritalin. I spent more time in the principal’s office than I’d like to admit. One stretch got so bad that I was paddled three times in four days.

I don’t know exactly what I was trying to accomplish back then.

Looking back, I can come up with theories, but the truth is I was just a kid whose world had been turned upside down. I wanted my parents back together, and I wasn’t handling it very well.

Somewhere in the middle of all that, I discovered something.

People laughed when I talked.

And I liked it.

What I didn’t realize at the time was that humor was becoming a lot more than a way to get a laugh.

 

Being Funny Meant Belonging

Once I figured out I could make people laugh, I leaned into it hard.

What started as talking out of turn eventually became part of my identity. No matter what school I went to, I became known as the funny kid. The class clown. The guy who always had something to say.

At the time, I thought I just liked making people laugh.

Looking back, I think there was more to it than that.

I had spent years feeling like I didn’t have much control over my life. My parents’ relationship was out of my hands. The adults were making decisions I didn’t understand. Every time I started getting comfortable somewhere, it felt like something changed.

But humor was different.

It worked.

If I said something funny, people paid attention. If I made the class laugh, people remembered me. If I could make my friends laugh until they couldn’t keep a straight face, I felt like I mattered.

The funny thing is, I don’t remember spending much time worrying about whether people liked me. At least not consciously. I just knew I loved being part of the group. I loved being included in conversations. I loved being the guy people wanted around.

For a kid who had spent years feeling like things were happening to him, making people laugh felt like a shortcut to belonging.

Sometimes it was harmless.

Sometimes it wasn’t.

There were times I made jokes at other people’s expense just to get a reaction. There were times I hurt people because getting a laugh felt more important than thinking about how my words landed. That’s something I still regret.

Most of the time, though, I genuinely loved making people feel good.

I remember sitting in a school library with my teammates after our eighth-grade basketball coach passed away. The teachers wanted us together so we could process what had happened. Meanwhile, I was cracking jokes and trying to make everyone laugh.

Looking back, I don’t know if I was helping everyone else cope or helping myself avoid what I was feeling.

Maybe it was both.

What I do know is that there was never a situation where humor wasn’t my first instinct.

 

Humor Became My Language

The more I think about it, the more I realize humor wasn’t just something I did.

It was how I connected.

I don’t think I’ve ever been one of those people who preferred being alone. Even when I felt awkward or uncomfortable in a room full of people, I’d still rather be around them than by myself. I’ve always enjoyed conversations, friendships, and feeling like I belonged somewhere.

The problem was that belonging didn’t always come easy for me.

After my parents split, I bounced through six different schools in about eight years. Every time I got comfortable, it seemed like I was starting over somewhere new. New teachers. New classmates. New groups of friends that had already known each other for years.

Walking into a new school can feel a lot like showing up halfway through a movie. Everyone else already knows the characters, the inside jokes, and where they fit into the story.

You’re just trying to find a seat.

Sports helped with that for a while. They opened a lot of doors and introduced me to a lot of people. But when sports weren’t part of my life, I found another way to connect.

It turned out that making people laugh was one of the fastest ways to break down walls.

A joke could start a conversation.

A laugh could turn strangers into friends.

A funny comment could make you feel like part of the group.

Looking back, I don’t think I was trying to become the class clown nearly as much as I was trying to belong.

Humor became my introduction before I even had one.

It was the language I used to let people know who I was.

Of course, like any language, I didn’t always use it perfectly.

Sometimes my mouth moved faster than my brain. Sometimes I crossed lines I wish I hadn’t crossed. Sometimes I chased a laugh when I should have shown a little more maturity.

But even then, the goal was rarely to push people away.

If anything, I was usually trying to bring them closer.

 

How Humor Helped Me Connect

I started writing this article thinking humor had become a defense mechanism.

And to be fair, there have definitely been times when I’ve used it that way. I’ve made jokes to avoid awkward conversations. I’ve said things without thinking them through. I’ve probably used humor to sidestep emotions more than I’d care to admit.

But the more I reflected on it, the less that explanation seemed to fit.

If humor was really just a shield, why did I use it while giving my mother’s eulogy?

I wrote more about losing my mom in a previous article, but standing up to give her eulogy taught me something about humor that I hadn’t fully understood before.

Standing in front of a church full of grieving family and friends, I found myself doing what I’ve always done. I told stories. I made observations. I even got a few laughs.

At one point, I joked about inheriting my mother’s quick wit and my grandfather’s buck teeth. People laughed, which isn’t exactly what most people expect to happen at a funeral.

The thing that stuck with me afterward wasn’t the joke itself. It was the reaction.

For a few moments, people weren’t focused on hospitals, cancer, treatments, or all the things we had lost. They were thinking about my mom. They were remembering the person she was before she became a patient.

Looking back, I don’t think I was trying to avoid grief in that moment. If anything, I was standing right in the middle of it.

What surprised me was realizing that laughter wasn’t taking people away from the sadness. It was helping them walk through it.

That’s the part I never really understood when I was younger.

I thought making people laugh was the goal.

Now I think making people laugh was usually just the vehicle.

The real goal was making people feel comfortable. Making them feel included. Giving them a reason to relax their shoulders for a minute. Giving them something to smile about when life felt heavy.

Maybe that’s why humor followed me into so many different parts of my life.

Not because I was trying to escape difficult moments.

Because I was trying to make those moments a little easier to carry.

Now I’m starting to wonder if I was trying to create something instead.

 

What I’d Tell My Younger Self

If I could go back and talk to the eighth-grade version of myself, I’d tell him to keep making people laugh.

I’d just tell him to be more intentional with it.

Somewhere along the way, I learned there’s a difference between making people laugh and making yourself the center of attention. There’s a difference between teasing someone because you love them and saying something at their expense just to get a reaction.

It took me a while to understand that, but I think humor is at its best when it brings people together rather than putting someone down.

Before writing this article, I think part of me viewed humor as something immature. Almost like it was a personality trait I was supposed to outgrow as I got older.

Instead, I think I just learned how to use it better.

What surprises me now is realizing how many of the most important relationships in my life have been built around humor. Some of my closest friendships started with it. Many of the relationships I’ve built with customers over the years have been strengthened by it. Even some of the hardest moments of my life have been made a little easier because someone found a reason to smile.

I started this article thinking humor had become a shield.

Now I think it was more often a bridge.

Not a way to avoid life.

A way to share it.

 

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