Made You Laugh

By Renee Riede

“Do you want to hear something really funny?” my little brother Ryan asked at breakfast.

“You bet,” Dad nodded.

“Sure, honey,” Mom said.

“Nope,” I said.

“What?” Dad demanded.

“Sure you do, Ian,” Mom said.

“Okay,” I sighed. “But I bet it’s not going to make me laugh.”

See, that’s the thing about seven-year-old brothers; all sorts of stuff they think is absolutely, positively, doubled-over, rolling-on-the-ground hilarious doesn’t make a guy who’s going into the fifth grade, like me, even crack a smile.

“How much do you want to bet?” Ryan said.

“How about if your joke makes me laugh, I load the dishwasher? If it doesn’t, that’s your job.”

“Okay,” Ryan agreed. “Have fun cleaning up.”

“We’ll see about that,” I said. “Let’s hear it.”

“Here goes,” Ryan giggled. “You’re going to love this one. Ready?”

“Ready,” we all said.

“Why can’t your nose be twelve inches long?”

“Hmm-m-m-m,” Mom said.

“Umm-m-m,” Dad added.

“Because then it would be a foot.” I announced. I wasn’t laughing. In fact, I wasn’t even smiling.

“Hey!” Ryan snorted. “How did you know?”

“Sorry, little buddy, but that joke is as old as…well…it’s as old as Mom and Dad.”

“Ian,” Mom scolded. “Just how old do you think I am?”

“Old enough to be my mother,” I quipped, and Mom and Dad both laughed.

“See,” I said. “That was actually funny.”

“Hey!” Ryan said.

“Hay is for horses,” I informed him.

“Now, that one’s older than Grandpa,” Dad said. “Don’t you have any new material, Ian?”

“Sure,” I replied. “I’ve got plenty of it.”

“Well?” Mom said.

“Well?” Ryan and Dad chorused.

“Well…um…well…” I spluttered, and that was when the light bulb went on in my head. “Well, I think tonight after dinner we should have a family joke-off. Everyone will have the chance to tell their funniest joke, and the person who gets the biggest laugh wins.”

“And what exactly do they win?” Mom wanted to know.

“How about a week off from yard work?” Dad suggested.

“Sounds good to me,” Mom said. “I certainly wouldn’t miss the mosquitoes.”

“Okay,” Ryan said, collecting our cereal bowls. “I hate pulling weeds.”

“Deal,” I said. “I’ll supervise all of you when you’re working.”

“I wouldn’t get too confident, Ian,” Dad winked. “Funny things can happen.

“Yup,” Ryan said, putting the cereal bowls in the dishwasher. “Really, really funny things.”

“Speaking of funny,” Mom said. “Grandpa is coming for dinner tonight. Why don’t we let him judge the joke-off?”

“Sure,” Ryan said.

“Perfect!” I smiled. Grandpa was probably the main reason I was known as the class clown. He was definitely the funniest guy I knew, and he certainly knew a good joke when he heard one. See ya later, weed whacker!

That afternoon I went over to Kevin’s house. Kevin’s my best friend—and my best audience. I wanted to try out a few jokes.

“Did you hear about last night’s robbery?” I demanded.

“Nope,” Kevin replied.

“A belt held up a pair of pants.”

“Mmm-m-m-m,” Kevin shrugged. “I guess it’s kind of funny.” He wasn’t laughing.

“How about this one? What do you call two banana peels?”

“Got me,” Kevin said.

“A pair of slippers,” I grinned. “Get it. Slippers.”

“Better,” Kevin agreed. “But I don’t think it’s a contest winner. Do you have anything else?”

Well, I must have told Kevin over thirty jokes, and only three of them made him laugh. I was starting to get worried.

I was in my bedroom pawing through a stack of joke books when Mom hollered, “Grandpa’s here! It’s soup!”

“Grandpa!” I shouted, and I raced into the dining room to give him a hug.

“Ian!” Grandpa grinned. “I hear some pretty funny things are going to be happening around here after dinner.”

“Mom told you about the contest?”

“Yes, and I can hardly wait. My funny bone hasn’t gotten any exercise lately. This ought to give it a real workout.”

“That doesn’t look like soup, Mom,” I teased, pointing at the pan of lasagna on the table.

“Oh, you know what I meant, Ian,” Mom clucked. “Dad, will you please say a prayer before things get cold?”

“Absolutely,” Grandpa said, and we all bowed our heads. “Bless us, O Lord, and these thy gifts which we are about to receive from thy bounty, through Christ, our Lord…and thank you for this fantabulous family and this fantabulous food, and Lord, for the sake of my funny bone, please let tonight’s entertainment be as heavenly as Maggie’s cooking. Amen.”

“Dad,” Mom scolded.

“Don’t worry, Grandpa,” Ryan, said, and I had to admit, the kid actually looked pretty confident.

“So, what’ve you got for me?” Grandpa asked, after he’d polished off his pie and said “fantabulous” for the zillionth time.

“Mom first,” Dad said.

“Let me see. How does it go? Oh. Okay. Why was the broom late?”

“It over-swept!” I blurted.

“Nuts!” Mom said.

“Nice try, Maggie,” Grandpa said, trying to force a chuckle. “Your turn, John.”

“You’re really going to love this one,” Dad boasted, which is something a comedian should never, ever do. “Why did the pony cough? …Somebody? Anybody?”

Nobody answered.

“Because it was a little hoarse,” Dad hee-hawed, slapping his leg. “Get it? A little h-o-a-r-s-e. Horse!”

“Whoa!” I said, as Grandpa eked out a little laughter. It looked like it was between me and Ryan.

“Ian,” Grandpa said.

“Why was 6 afraid of 7?” I said.

“Humph.” Grandpa said, scratching his head. “Now that’s a good question.”

“Because 7, 8, 9.”

“What?” Mom looked confused.

“Oh, I get it,” Dad said. “Seven ate nine!”

But the best news was that Grandpa actually laughed.

“A thinking man’s joke,” he said. “I like that.”

“Top that, Ryan,” I snickered.

Ryan grinned. He dug into his pocket, yanked out a crumpled piece of paper, and tossed it through the air so it landed on Grandpa’s lap. “Oh no, Grandpa,” he squealed, “the joke’s on you!”

“The joke’s on me,” Grandpa howled. “I love it! Why, that’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in months!”

Now Mom and Dad were laughing too.

“Grandpa, could I please get the joke?” Ryan insisted.

“Of course you can get it,” Grandpa hooted, passing the paper back to Ryan. Another score for my little bro!

Ryan straightened the paper out. “What do you call a cow that eats grass?” he read.

“Wh- wh-what?” Grandpa stammered, wiping the tears from the corners of his eyes.

“Give up?” Ryan demanded.

“We give,” I said.

“A lawn moo-er,” Ryan giggled, and he looked so proud of himself that even I had to chuckle.

“Made you laugh!” he hollered.

“Oh, no!” I said. “This is terrible.”

Ryan’s face fell. “What do you mean?”

“Well, looks like a lawn moo-er has turned me into a lawn mower.”

And we all started laughing all over again.

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