During this new year, I have faith that each one of you will contribute 12 months of tumultuous laughter to those near you. I know you can; just follow these examples.
A few years back an airliner, too small to employ cabin crew, landed at a northern Ontario airport. After it had fully stopped, the pilot entered the passenger cabin from the cockpit and opened the exit door. Turning his back to the door, he summoned all the dignity expected of a chief pilot and spoke to the passengers. "Ladies and gentleman, please exit the aircraft very carefully because of icy conditions."
With that he fell backwards out the doorway. At least one passenger, my informant, roared with laughter. Fortunately, the pilot injured only his pride. When he opened the door, the steps that should have extended automatically had remained stuck in place -probably a result of the icy weather.
All of us periodically make similar mistakes – stepping into the unknown without thinking ahead.
Once while installing wiring in the crawl space above a public hall, I stepped off the beam and began crashing through the ceiling. Visions of broken bones spooled through my head. My legs churned wildly. I spread my arms and caught a beam on each side. Hanging like a live chicken in the hands of a butcher, I thrashed around, finally pulling myself to safety. My immediate thought, "What an idiot. What will the owner think?"
I needn’t have worried. After ducking falling tiles, seeing the sudden appearance overhead of a pair of wildly-gyrating legs, he waited until I had safely extricated myself, then dissolved into laughter.
One muddy Fall day during my teens, I parked my Austin at the foot of an embankment in front of the house. I saw mother approaching across the lawn, but in the blink of an eye she vanished.
Hearing a sobbing or choking sound, I leaned across the narrow car, threw open the passenger door and looked directly into Mother’s face. Only her head and shoulders protruded from under the car. Losing her footing on the slope, she had tobogganed through the mud and slush, coming to a stop beneath the car. Her laughter shook the car. She continued laughing as I pulled and tugged to free her and howled with glee when I landed in the mud beside her. Ever after, Mother and I remembered this as the funniest moment of our lives.
The summer following my first year of college, I received an invitation to speak at a church service in a village hall. On the appointed day I stood before a packed house (that’s preacher’s talk for 30 people). My palms sweated and my knees knocked. I adopted an appropriate cathedral voice, wiped my hands on my pants, and began. In about three minutes I had them feasting on every word. Buoyed up by my initial success, I didn’t see Grace enter late and take a seat at the back. Rising to full eloquence, I said, "They threw Daniel into a lion full of dens."
Most experienced public speakers could easily have overcome that little blunder, but Grace, feeling giddy after coming off a night shift, began to laugh, a low chortle that rose to a high soprano peak. Instead of soldiering on I stopped with my mouth hanging open. Grace’s laugh, coupled with my embarrassment soon brought down the house. My masterpiece of oratory sank quickly into the slough of despond.
Whenever you or I pull a gaffe, someone will laugh. And that makes all of life’s little blunders memorable and worthwhile.
