Years ago, on a family trip to Italy, we spent the day touring the region surrounding Florence. What would have been just another day excursion turned into a moment that lives on as one of the greatest comedic stories in our family playbook.
My late husband, George, was both an avid reader and a history buff. No matter the journey, he found an opportunity to share his enthusiasm and depth of knowledge with my daughter Elise and bonus daughter Bre. They appreciated his worldly perspective, but didn’t always have the attention span required to absorb all that imparted wisdom.
Case in point.
By the time we reached Siena, Italy, that day, the girls were as intellectually fried as any young teenagers would be on day “too many” of what had become an educational trip masquerading as a European adventure, thanks to George’s former days as a history and English teacher.
They were doing their best to follow our overly enthusiastic, yet extremely serious, local tour guide through the cobblestone streets of this beautiful historic town.
As we entered Siena’s magnificent 13th-century cathedral, a stunning example of Romanesque and Gothic architecture, our guide began explaining the history of the Protestants and Catholics.
Elise, who wears bilateral hearing aids and occasionally misses pieces of a conversation, was listening as intently as possible when she gently tugged at my sleeve.
“Excuse me, Mom. Am I a Catholic or a prostitute?”
I lost it.
I was laughing so hard I could barely breathe. The tour guide looked at me disapprovingly, as though I were some gauche American tourist, while George looked at me, wondering what on earth had just happened.
I pulled him aside and somehow managed to repeat the question between fits of laughter.
Now there were two of us.
The tour guide was not amused.
I finally managed to reassure Elise that she was definitely not a prostitute. Nor, for that matter, was she Catholic.
We barely made it through the rest of the cathedral without bursting into laughter. And the moment we said our goodbyes and stepped outside, we completely lost it again.
Don’t get me wrong. Siena is a gorgeous town, and its cathedral is absolutely stunning. But after you’ve toured enough cathedrals in Europe, they do have a way of blending together.
Not this one.
Eight years later, that afternoon remains one of our most retold family stories. And somehow, it still produces the same uncontrollable laughter.
(And yes, Elise did offer her blessing to share this moment in time. She even laughed.)
Even today, I can hear George’s laugh as clearly as if he were standing beside me.
Of all the cathedrals we’ve visited, this is the one I’ll never forget. And it has absolutely nothing to do with the architecture.
Humor Really Is a Saving Grace
In The Book of Joy, Archbishop Desmond Tutu and the Dalai Lama explore humor as the third pillar of joy.
If you have an opportunity to read the book, you’ll quickly discover that humor is an integral part of the relationship between these two extraordinary men. They laugh at themselves, frequently tease each other, and clearly take great pleasure in doing so.
When Doug Abrams, the book’s co-author, asks the Archbishop about their teasing, his response offers an interesting perspective.
He explains that teasing someone is actually a statement of trust. It’s a sign that there’s enough goodwill between two people that neither feels threatened by the joke or worries that the other is trying to put them down.
Apparently, my late husband understood this wisdom as well. George loved to tease me and just about everyone else. It was practically his love language.
Perhaps that explains why George had countless friends and, as far as I know, not a single enemy.
I love that distinction.
I think it’s easy to get caught up laughing at other people’s expense. I’m not proud to admit that I’ve certainly been both a participant in and a witness to those moments.
And while I’m not here to claim any moral high ground, it’s something I’ve become increasingly conscious of. I find myself no longer wanting to participate in that kind of humor, although it’s sometimes easier said than done.
When I consider the teachings of this chapter, I’m reminded that humor can connect us through our shared humanity.
That’s the side of the joke I want to be on.
The one that creates community rather than disunity.
Which brings me to the other observation that stayed with me from this chapter.
The Archbishop suggests that humor is something we can cultivate. Like anything else, it’s a skill. And the easiest place to begin is by learning to laugh at ourselves.
Which, when you think about it, brings us right back to humility, the second pillar of joy.
I can certainly use more of both.
I’ve spent plenty of my life taking things seriously. Sometimes so seriously that I get caught up in my own head and forget how to have fun. (Hence the reason I wrote an entire article about reclaiming my “funness.”)
How to Stop Taking Everything So Seriously and Reclaim Your Playful Spirit
Somewhere between being the pot-smoking, rule-breaking teenager who snuck out the back door and rolled the car down the driveway after midnight (sorry, Dad, but that truth was bound to come out eventually) and turning 52, I stopped being fun.
Life is hard enough without making everything so serious.
While each pillar of joy provides an opportunity to practice a new way of being, I think, for myself at least, learning to laugh at myself might be one of the most useful things I can practice.
It’s certainly a muscle I want to flex more often.
And if all else fails, I can always pull the memory of my delightful daughter in a cathedral from our family playbook to remind me just how funny life can be.
When was the last time you laughed so hard you could barely catch your breath?
Always Editing,
Leslie
Drop a note. Drop a joke. Add a little humor. We all need to laugh. I look forward to reading your words.
ABOUT ME
I am still working on the perfect bio. I am a writer. Former yoga studio owner and marathon runner. That seems like an oxymoron, I know. My body thinks so too. I am also a bunch of other formers that look better on a LinkedIn page than on Substack. I lost my late husband nearly four years ago. It changed my perspective on everything and offered me a new life I never asked for but had to build. I am constantly exploring discernment, what we value, and the choices that shape our lives. My articles are weekly. No two are ever alike. I am grateful you’re here, helping shape a community that has given me purpose and passion in the most unexpected and beautiful way.
MY PREVIOUS WORK
Leslie, as someone raised Catholic, I nearly needed confession after laughing at that story! 😂 But what touched me most was how you can still hear George’s laughter all these years later. What a beautiful reminder that sometimes the people we love leave us with something more enduring than photographs: a laugh that never really goes away. I’ve learned that humor doesn’t erase grief, but sometimes it gives grief a place to sit while we catch our breath. And if God gave us a sense of humor, I certainly hope He’s using His! ❤️
Such a good read Leslie, thank you! We could all do with a little more humor to make our days much lighter and fun🥳 The cathedral in Sienna is gorgeous. I hope to visit someday ✨