My kids think my wife is hysterical. They think I am kinda, sorta funny. My wife doesn’t write comedy, she doesn’t even like comedy all that much. (She’s a sci-fi/fantasy nerd — an area not well known for its funny bone). And yet my kids prefer her humor to mine, which is a big bag of BS.I have written comedy, I have performed comedy, and I have studied comedy. And yet from my kids all I get is a collective, “meh.” It’s disheartening.
I never really had any sort of expectations when it came to becoming a parent – except that my kids would worship the ground I walk on, you know, typical stuff – but I always assumed they’d think I’m incredibly funny. I was so confident in that fact that it wasn’t even a concern. It was just a given that anything I presented to my children would be comedy gold. That has not been the case these past years. In fact, far from it.
In my children’s eyes, I am an amateur performing in empty coffeehouses and my wife is the headliner selling out Madison Square Garden.
My wife’s ability to make my kids laugh started fairly early on. When they were babies and just starting to eat real food, she would hold out a forkful of chicken and screech in a high-pitched voice, “MEAT!” Both kids would squeal with delight as they devoured their dinners. I would do the exact same thing and they would look at me like, “Dude, don’t steal another performer’s material. It’s poor form. And, FYI, this chicken blows and I’m eating none of it.”
Trying to make your kid laugh when they aren’t really vibing your comic stylings is truly an uphill battle. I desperately want to win them over and they can smell the desperation like rotting garbage on a humid, summer day. And even to little kids, desperation is the exact opposite of funny. So, hearing nothing but crickets from my audience, I will repeat material that I know has worked for me in the past. It’s met with a mere roll of the eyes and just the subtlest shake of the head.
My wife, on the other hand, kills it every night. She doesn’t even have to prepare material. She can improv an entire set, not knowing she is improvising an entire set, and have the kids in stitches. I’m covered in flop sweat and she’s getting standing ovations. They just like her better and likeability always wins out. (Just ask Hollywood). It’s not fair. And I know life isn’t fair and comedy isn’t fair, but I should be getting better responses from my crowd of two. It’s like being on a reality TV show where I am constantly being judged and never win anything but can never quit or get mercifully kicked off.
I think part of the problem is that there is that old trope that dads are the funny one. Dads are the ones you go to for the jokes. Moms are the ones you go to for absolutely everything else (because moms are better at everything else). And while there are tons of moms out there who are naturally HI-larious, trying to be funny at all times is typically under dad’s purview. (Please notice the italicized. It’s there so you don’t lash out in the comment section, “This guy thinks moms aren’t funny!” Moms are funny – italicized again for your convenience – but dads traditionally put more effort into it, good or bad.) So when I hear my kids LOL at my wife’s antics it makes me feel like I am not living up to that title of “Funniest Dad Ever” – a title that I gave to myself for no reason whatsoever.
I wish I could say the kids have warmed to me or that my material has gotten better but, alas, I cannot. As they have gotten older it’s actually gotten more difficult to get my kids to laugh at my comedy bits.
Lately I’ve been resorting to a barrage of fart and burp jokes just so I can get even a chortle out of them. It’s pretty hack and I’m not proud of it but, hey, desperate times call for desperate measures. Comedy is hard.