Years ago, back when fax machines still roamed the earth, a co-worker – let’s call him Nate, because that was his name – was one of those people who believed in the power of a joke, even when it came out sideways.
One morning, Nate tossed a line into the air – some light attempt at humor, which dudded with all the grace of a sandbag on a trampoline. But rather than retreat, Nate did something quietly brilliant. He mimed pulling the pin from an invisible grenade with his teeth, lobbed it across the office, and called out:
“Laugh grenade!”
Then he waited – eyes wide, grin growing – with all the hopeful energy of a kid performing magic for grown-ups. Someone cracked a smile. Another let out a snort. And Nate, without missing a beat, declared, “Casualty!”
And just like that, we were all laughing. Not so much at the joke, but at the recovery. At the spirit of it. The sheer joy of trying again.
Since then, I’ve carried the laugh grenade with me. I keep it tucked in my metaphorical dad joke toolbelt, right next to the puns and outdated pop culture references. My daughters – each one a certified master in the ancient art of eye-rolling – have borne witness to its repeated deployment.
But over the years, I’ve realized the laugh grenade isn’t just for jokes. It has cousins.
Take the “You Did It” grenade, for example. When I’m heading into something unpleasant – a medical test, an awkward phone call, a meeting involving forms and acronyms – I’ll pick a marker along the way. Maybe Joe Bandido’s restaurant. I’ll say to myself, “When I see Joe’s again, this will be over.” Then I drive past it on the way home, and just like that—boom. A little internal celebration. Good job, self. We did it (me and Joe). The quiet relief of surviving something small but not insignificant.
If you’ve been reading Breaking Hip for a while, you may remember my vow to only write things that mean something to me. Which raises a fair question:
Does this man really care about oversized meatballs and gleaming golden forks?
Yes. Yes, he does.
Because The Fork – this quirky little project we started years ago and almost forgot about – has suddenly become one of those laugh grenades. It came back to me late-in-life right when I really needed something to make me smile. Not the kind of smile that splits your face open. Just the gentle kind. The “thank goodness can still share some laughs together” kind.
I hope it brings some of that to you, too. I guess you could say it’s our mirthright. (I like to think that somewhere out there, Nate is calling it: laugh grenade!)