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As I sat in a restaurant one Sunday evening enjoying my pasta salad and the company of some friends, the sounds of giggles and laughter drifted over from the next table. We turned to see a family with two teenage daughters who had a bad case of the giggles. The father, obviously not in a good mood, became more and more exasperated with the girls’ inability to contain their laughter. Finally, with a very serious straight face, he said, “That’s enough laughing for the weekend, Julia.”I had to turn away so he wouldn’t see my grin. Julia, meanwhile, tried to talk her father into starting on Monday’s quota of laughter. Her rationale was that she would be at school and wouldn’t be able to laugh as much as on a Sunday.
The absurdity of being given a ration of laughter each day reminded me of the way I was raised. Until then, I hadn’t really thought much about how serious my upbringing had been. My laughter had been largely repressed. Giggling and laughing were definitely frowned upon at school, church and other childhood places.
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