DOIN’ A ONE-EIGHTY

By Dave Friant

Jocularity. Defined by the wizards at Merriam-Webster as “a usually habitual fondness for jesting or joking.” It seems to be a spot-on characteristic of my approach to life since early adulthood. Doing my part to offset in some way(s) the too often stressful existences of folks.

Maintaining some degree of reasonableness with the efforts is often my Achillies heal; that awkward point where intended bits of humor reverse course and descend to the point of near humiliation for all. I get the frown from my “mahvelous” (Billy Crystal-SNL) mate of slightly over half-century on those occasions. As she continues to point out, knowing the room is crucial. Getting laughs at the expense of others is a bummer.

My pre-teen and mid-teen years were not joyous times. Anything but. Bashfulness, a concern about my below average “looks,” and some catch-all insecurities took center stage at the most inopportune times.

Coping took the form of being part of a neighborhood bunch of guys who hung out in our small New Jersey town of 150 or so. Absent the occasional mischievous Halloween pranks, we were reasonably straight-laced and for the most part rule followers. We played a variety of sandlot sports and gathered for weekly church services. A majority of us failed to act on mid-teen girlfriend relationship green lights for fear of rejection. As they continue to be for the younger crowd today, self-esteem concerns were biggies back in the early-to-mid 60’s.

We put up with BOR-ing classes at school. Very few teachers were keen on unwinding for even a portion of the workday for fear that such a diversion might affect their by-the-book reputations. The callings they responded to were intended to prepare students academically for the demands of that stronghold of higher learnin’ known as high school. Doing so with scowls on their faces was the norm.

Tops on my academic scale of misery was “Bulldog” Hiles. She was the eight decades old or so primary English teacher. Without question, the widely used nickname matched the demeanor. Anyone who dared take issue with her views on most any topic was ostracized by an easily detectable snarl and a facial expression that mirrored the worst of Bette Davis in the 1962 movie, “Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?” Remedies for bouts with unruly and underperforming students typically took the form of awkwardly pointed and severely arthritic fingers toward offenders; characterizing them as imbeciles for not being able to diagram sentences.

High school was a horse of a different color. A tougher challenge where a boatload of insecurity concerns were again on the front burner. Factions of students with particular categories of interests were everywhere. The jocks. The GQ males who were saturated with “coolness.” The cheerleaders. The nerds who demonstrated their academic proficiencies. I was able to take only a baby step or two forward in the area of assurances that good times lie ahead. I came to realize that being unsure of yourself was not equated to the size of the town from whence you came. Cleverly hidden, it was also a tough time for some larger city kids who appeared to check all the boxes of having it together.

Doubt reigned supreme for most of those four years. Athletics were much more competitive. Being relegated to second string was a downer. For the majority of my high school years, I never climbed to a level of 4 or better on a 1-10 scale of being a chick magnet. Undertaken were only rare attempts at being humorous due to what I viewed as the unlikeliness that the needle of acceptance would be moved.

I did become involved in a boyfriend/girlfriend “steady” relationship through a church youth fellowship set-up during my senior year. It lasted for two years before termination due to the out of nowhere arrival of my current (and only) mutual sharer of all things.

I’m convinced that the newcomer’s accepting presence in my life, then and now, was divinely orchestrated. A “try this” intended match on the part of our Lord. An engaging and beautiful blond from the South showing up unannounced at a bowling alley where a fellow buddy and I were knocking down pins for our college bowling team. Sizable portions of the puzzle parts being laid out before my eyes.

She was humble and an interested listener. Encompassing what in quick order was just what the doctor ordered. One who demonstrated a commitment to the Lord who she mirrored from an extraordinary set of parents. She very early on provided the impetus for me to take a “go for the gusto” approach to life. The elements of her presence were/are the determining factors in the journey to my one-eighty. Shelving some inhibitions. Making a dent or two with the stressors of life.

Mine are thoughts on behaviors that are often over the solid white line for which we are all guilty at times. Done so with hopefully a laugh or two sprinkled in. Some “Hey, I’ve been there” recalls. It continues to be the extra log on the fire.