Using Humor to Help Guide Your Family Through Life

By Richard M. Romney
Illustration by Joel Snyder

Kindhearted humor, lovingly applied, can be a healing balm to soothe the stresses and strengthen the standards of family life.

When our first two children, Taylor and Miles, were 5 and 4 years old respectively, our church sponsored a fathers-and-sons camp-out in a nearby canyon. We spread out some fluffy, silky sleeping bags on the floor of our tent; and after changing into their pajamas, the boys put socks on their feet to stay warm. But the smooth stockings and the slick sleeping bags had an unexpected result—Miles's feet kept slipping out from under him.


Turning family chores into a game can make them less mundane—and even fun—to do.

Taylor was making fun of his younger brother's predicament, and I was about to speak to him in anger. Then I thought of a better way to deal with the situation. I gently tugged on the corner of the bag Taylor was standing on, and like his brother he also plopped down. "Having trouble walking, buddy?" I asked. Taylor started giggling.

In an instant Miles toppled again, but this time he was laughing, too. "Having trouble walking, buddy?" I asked again, and soon it became a game. Now both boys wanted to tip over. After a few minutes of silliness, other campers were poking their noses into our tent to see why we were having so much fun.

Today, Taylor is 21 and Miles is 20. But when they're struggling with something that seems a bit overwhelming, I can still bring a smile to their faces by saying, "Having trouble walking, buddy?" What started as a moment of humor has become a catchphrase. It opens the door, in a gentle way, to discuss what is on their mind. By retrieving a pleasant memory, it also serves as a quiet reminder that each of us may slip and fall, but that we can bounce back up again—with a smile on our face.

'Boost-up,' not 'pull-down'

Humor such as this can often help families learn the lessons of life. But it must be kindhearted humor, applied in a loving way (as Taylor realized that my action in the tent was done in fun and not as criticism). That's what authors Linda and Richard Eyre call a "boost-up" rather than a "pull-down" in their The Book of Nurturing (McGraw-Hill, 2003).

John Fee of Dallas, Tex., grew up in a home in Knoxville, Tenn., in which his father, Harold, constantly used humor to boost up rather than pull down. "As a child I was ridiculed by other students," John remembers. "My father would use humor to show me that the future was not about being ridiculed, rather, it was about what I was going to do to better myself. He always had anecdotes to show me how life would change and that the people who were teasing me now would not be in my life later on."

The lessons from Fee's father have become more poignant over the last 15 years as Harold, now 85, has used humor to cope with the pain of a steel pin inserted to treat a neck injury he sustained during World War II. "Dad has learned that humor helps those around him," John says. "Perhaps they are more comfortable knowing he can joke about it. You can watch their body language as he talks to them—they go from tense to relaxed, then they start laughing with him."

It's a legacy John has employed with his own children. "I use humor to teach my children in a positive way," he says.

Helping toddlers and teens

Even young children respond well to humor. "If your 4-year-old daughter bumps her elbow," says Lori Muse of Heber, Utah, "try giving her a quick hug and saying, 'Oh, did you hurt your stomach?' It's amazing how quickly kids will shift the focus from tears to getting the right body part identified, and pretty soon they've forgotten the pain altogether."

In the book Kids Are From Jupiter: A Guide for Puzzled Parents (Deseret Book Company, 2000), Mark Chamberlain suggests that turning chores into a game is a great way to bring a little lightheartedness to the mundane tasks of family life: "One winter day I told my kids how bad I felt that I had no sled dogs to help me clear off the driveway," he writes. "Good sled dogs, I explained, could help me by pulling loads of snow and ice onto the grass using our toboggan. I even had some dog biscuits (graham crackers) to feed my team. 'We can be your dogs, Dad!' they cried. I've never seen such eager beasts of burden."

With teens, however, the same technique may backfire, Chamberlain cautions.

"Humor can work, although probably not as well or as often as it does with their little brothers or sisters. And it must be more skillfully applied," he notes. "Growing up, I always complained when my mom asked me to do housework. Breaking my stride during a busy day to vacuum? What was she thinking? I'd groan and mumble. But Mom's comeback disarmed me. 'You spend hours every week lifting weights. Think of housework as exercise.' That was sure to give me a good laugh, which usually lasted longer than the job I had to do. I'd do curls with the duster as I walked between shelves. I'd grunt and wipe away imaginary sweat as I vacuumed."

A potent balm for healing

Humor can, indeed, be an important healing balm, both in treating the everyday bumps and bruises of family life, and even in the most difficult household situations. Our family has recently dealt with the trauma and tragedy of my wife's cancer. We have learned to laugh through dire moments—allowing our 8-year-old daughter, Charlotte, to also try on wigs when Julene lost her hair; joking with Julene about how she was imitating neighbors who ran in the Boston Marathon by creating her own long-distance race from bedroom to bathroom; and creating "squishy pets" with Charlotte and our 13-year-old son, McKay, by filling surgical gloves with water and tying the tops to make balloons.

Julene's treatments increasingly caused her to be nauseated and dizzy. One night, as she was stumbling and bumping into walls trying to get down the hall, Taylor saw that I was nearly overcome with emotion. After Julene was safely back in bed, he gently put his hand on my shoulder. "Having trouble walking, buddy?" he said, and we both knew it was time to talk.

Richard M. Romney is a freelance writer in Salt Lake City, Utah. His wife, Julene, died from colon cancer in July 2005.




Top of Page


November - December 2005 Table of Contents


Copyright © 2005 by the Boy Scouts of America. All rights thereunder reserved; anything appearing in Scouting magazine or on its Web site may not be reprinted either wholly or in part without written permission. Because of freedom given authors, opinions may not reflect official concurrence.