My mother has always encouraged me to try new things.
By “try new things” I mean she force fed extra-curriculars down my throat until I had a complex by the time I was nine because I was simultaneously on the swim team, basketball team, soccer team, softball team, and on the weekends I took art classes, science classes, gymnastics, dance and was in musicals. She always said she wanted me to “experience the things her parents couldn’t afford.” I hated her for turning me into a textbook case of an overstimulated child. I also hate the guilt I feel whenever I have spare time. (I know, “wah, wah, I was a privileged child with lots of opportunities to experience new activities, wah.”)
What I am getting at here is that my mother recently decided to give me the gift of comedy classes. That’s right. My mother wants me to take stand-up comedy lessons.
I always thought “comedian” was the type of profession mothers were ashamed to admit when their friends asked them what their kid was doing for a living. Here I am, in my late twenties, a successful public relations professional, and my mother wants me to get into comedy. You have to admit, it’s a little weird.
I have decided to go for it. I plan to take the classes this summer. Who knows, maybe it will help me with my creative writing. At the very least, it will give me an outlet to tell some inappropriate jokes that I can’t share very often. One thing is certain though. When it comes time to debut my stand-up comedy routine on the last day of funny school, my mother will be in the front row, laughing proudly.