Posted on: Sunday, September 14, 2003

FAMILY MATTERS
Count on a man to pick the wrong time to yuk it up

By Michael C. DeMattos

I had a fun-filled and active childhood, but my friends and I inevitably suffered some injuries. And like an old Laurel and Hardy movie, it always seemed funny — at first.

Once, a friend and I were riding our skateboards down his double-entranced driveway. He started at one end and I launched from the other. When we met in the middle we gave each other a high five.

On one of our runs, I lost my balance and my board shot out, apparently knocking his board from under him. We both fell to the ground and cried aloud. Mine were tears of laughter and his were tears of pain. He clutched his ankle, and I snorted, trying hard to stifle my laughter. He was injured, but not seriously.

Still, I remember feeling guilty for my response.

This was not the last time that this would happen to me. In fact, more often than not, the roles were reversed, and I was the one in pain while it was my buddy laughing aloud.

I have tried but have never been able to adequately explain this phenomenon of inappropriate laughter.

Perhaps it is anxious laughter, or an unconscious wish to make things better. Maybe we laugh to minimize our own pain, a kind of psychic survival strategy. I do know it is nothing like that "Jackass" movie that seems to revel in the suffering of others.

Still, one thing is clear: It is a guy thing. I have never witnessed this behavior in girls. It is like there is some instant compassion gene that girls have and boys are missing.

All the guys I know laugh first and then bone up, and then only if there is a real and serious injury. I had hoped that maturity would have cleansed me of this most undesirable of traits, but alas, I suffer still and see no hope in sight.

Last weekend my family and I went over to my father's house. His big toe had been infected and he had to have the nail removed. It was clear that he was hurting, but we played a few games of cribbage and had an enjoyable time nonetheless.

All too soon it was time to go. We packed up the car and said our goodbyes.

My daughter was slung over my shoulder and my father went to give her a hug. They embraced and I lost my balance. I took a small step backwards and stepped on the injured toe.

There was a scream; I reeled around and saw him reaching for the wrapped appendage.

It seemed so surreal. I could not restrain myself. Just like 25 years ago, we both cried out. Mine were tears of laughter and his were tears of pain.

I helped him to his chair as the girls looked on in horror.

Dad regained his composure within minutes, though it took me much longer.

One would think that I would have changed, living my life surrounded by compassionate women, but I have not.

I called Dad the next day to see how he was doing.

"That was pretty dang funny yesterday wasn't it?" he said.

"It sure was," I agreed as I chuckled to myself.

Yes, it is definitely a guy thing.

Family therapist Michael C. DeMattos has a master's degree in social work.