ears do their level best to shape behavior and teach proper conduct. However, far too little, if any, time is spent teaching the importance of mirth. There is a blatant effort to extinguish the natural sense of humor that is given to each of us at birth. In the name of sanity and deportment, it is buried beneath layers ofA

You're only given a little spark of madness. You mustn't lose it." Robin Williams

One of my favorite paintings is Seurat’s Sunday Afternoon on the Grand Jette. It is a feature in the collection at the Chicago Art Institute. My first visit there was on a field trip in the third grade. In preparation for the trip, my teacher, Miss Karm (there were no “Ms.” then) showed prints of the paintings we would see. When she spoke of Seurat’s painting, she explained that the women in the painting were wearing bustles. In a totally innocent and reflexive outburst, I repeated the words my father used each night when he called me to dinner. “Hustle your bustle,” he would yell. My classmates burst into laughter. I was pleased, until Miss Karm grabbed me by the ear. She pulled me out of the classroom, into the hall, up the stairs, straight into the principles office. My mother was summoned to the school. When she finally arrived, a conference was held. I have a vivid memory of my mother’s attempts to keep from laughing, as my delinquent behavior was described. I will forever be grateful for the quick wink and smile she gave me, when the principal and teacher were not looking. It was one of the warmest moments we ever shared.

Those who coach us through our formative years do their level best to shape behavior and teach proper conduct. However, far too little, if any, time is spent teaching the importance of mirth. There is a blatant effort to extinguish the natural sense of humor that is given to each of us at birth. In the name of sanity and deportment, it is buried beneath layers of

trip, my teacher, Miss Karm (there were no “Ms.” then) showed prints of the paintings we would see. When she spoke of Seurat’s painting, she explained that the women in the painting were wearing bustles. In a totally innocent and reflexive outburst, I repeated the words my father used each night when he called me to dinner. “Hustle your bustle,” he would yell. My classmates burst into laughter. I was pleased, until Miss Karm grabbed me by the ear. She pulled me out of the classroom, into the hall, up the stairs, straight into the principles office. My mother was summoned to the school. When she finally arrived, a conference was held. I have a vivid memory of my mother’s attempts to keep from laughing, as my delinquent behavior was described. I will forever be grateful for the quick wink and smile she gave me, when the principal and teacher were not looking. It was one of the warmest moments we ever shared.

Those who coach us through our formative years do their level best to shape behavior and teach proper conduct. However, far too little, if any, time is spent teaching the importance of mirth. There is a blatant effort to extinguish the natural sense of humor that is given to each of us at birth. In the name of sanity and deportment, it is buried beneath layers of

r. “Hustle your bustle,” he would yell. My classmates burst into laughter. I was pleased, until Miss Karm grabbed me by the ear. She pulled me out of the classroom, into the hall, up the stairs, straight into the principles office. My mother was summoned to the school. When she finally arrived, a conference was held. I have a vivid memory of my mother’s attempts to keep from laughing, as my delinquent behavior was described. I will forever be grateful for the quick wink and smile she gave me, when the principal and teacher were not looking. It was one of the warmest moments we ever shared.

Those who coach us through our formative years do their level best to shape behavior and teach proper conduct. However, far too little, if any, time is spent teaching the importance of mirth. There is a blatant effort to extinguish the natural sense of humor that is given to each of us at birth. In the name of sanity and deportment, it is buried beneath layers of

ave a vivid memory of my mother’s attempts to keep from laughing, as my delinquent behavior was described. I will forever be grateful for the quick wink and smile she gave me, when the principal and teacher were not looking. It was one of the warmest moments we ever shared.

Those who coach us through our formative years do their level best to shape behavior and teach proper conduct. However, far too little, if any, time is spent teaching the importance of mirth. There is a blatant effort to extinguish the natural sense of humor that is given to each of us at birth. In the name of sanity and deportment, it is buried beneath layers of

ears do their level best to shape behavior and teach proper conduct. However, far too little, if any, time is spent teaching the importance of mirth. There is a blatant effort to extinguish the natural sense of humor that is given to each of us at birth. In the name of sanity and deportment, it is buried beneath layers of corrective actions, punishments, and unqualified seriousness.

To balance all this, there ought to be an entire mandatory curriculum in the subject of “Mirth.” At a minimum, it should include workshops on joke telling, punning, and quick quipping. The final examination should be oral and should be graded with a laugh meter. People who do not laugh should be made to stay after school, until they do laugh. Teaching mirth to children would reduce stress in their adult years, make their future business meetings more fun, and future politicians less abrasive. It would change the world. Have Mirthy on me!