The news of Mary Travers death yesterday was bad enough, but when Henry Gibson’s death was announced on the radio, I wondered who would be next. Carol Burnett? Lily Tomlin? Andy Griffith? James Garner? Mary Tyler Moore? Julie Andrews? Tim Conway?
Feeling like a sitting duck, I grabbed the remote and turned off the radio.
The image of my father, his wheel chair facing the TV from its position between the recliner and the couch, came to mind. It was Monday night, and time for Laugh In. The show’s double entendres went right over my head, but they nailed Dad in the funny bone every time. How did he talk Mom, who sniffed out the tiniest whiff of sexual innuendo and banished it from the house, into letting the whole family watch the show? I have no idea, but thanks to my dad, Henry Gibson and the rest of the gang were part of our Monday night routine for Laugh In’s entire run.
To this day, I hear one bar of the show’s theme song, and I’m a kid again. Mom’s in the recliner, Dad’s in his wheelchair, I’m on the couch with my sister. My little brother lays on my stomach on the floor with Missy, our intrepid dachshund, laying in the indentation where his legs meet, her head resting on his butt.
“Jo-Jo, get your father a hankie,” Mom orders.
“Thanks, Joely.” Dad gasps. He grabs it with shaking fingers, mops up his tears, and honks into the white cloth. “I’ll keep it until the show’s over. You sit down and watch.”
I sit down, but I don’t watch TV. Instead, I watch my father, ancient at forty, but still too young to have spent ten years in the wheelchair. Dad’s not feeling sorry for himself, though. He’s smiling at the Sock-It-to-Me girls, enjoying himself immensely, laughing until the hankie is soaked.
There’s always a reason to laugh, I thought, and looked at the screen. Henry Gibson appeared again, doing a sad-sack routine. But when a tiny smile flits across his lips, he echos my father’s attitude. There’s always a reason to laugh.
I pick up the remote and turn on the radio. No matter how bad the news is, I can hear laughter.
