Comic relief

I'm finding a new role in my life. Of all things, I'm providing the comic relief.

Jess was "strongly recommending" I make an entry onto our wedding blog site, mentioned elsewhere in this blog. She said she needed something on there from me, since I served as "comic relief" on that site.

I might be comic relief in her life, but most people never get a chance to see that side of me. I'm often reminded of something a girl in high school said to me on graduation day: "I never knew you were funny. If I did, I might've talked to you more."

For some reason, I've never been that comfortable letting people see my silly side. I don't know if it's some sort of deep-seeded fear of not being taken seriously or what.

Yesterday Jessica's mom and sister were here for a bit when they returned with Jessica from Columbus. All of a sudden, her niece Emma asked me if I liked spaghetti. The adults said, "Yeah, let's hear your Mr. T."

Lissie, our 4-year-old, and I have several silly games we play with one another, usually involving me making silly voices. One of those is when I act like Mr. T, the gold chained macho man from the 1980s series "The A Team." And for some reason, Lissie loves to hear me say, "I pity the fool who asks me if I like spaghetti. Mr. T HATES the spaghetti."

It's one thing to be silly in front of a child, but you feel REALLY silly doing that same impression in front of adults who, up to that point in time, probably respected you.

But it reminds me of a more valid point: I'll be embarassing Lissie for the rest of her life. It's time I get used to the humility aspect of it now.