I like to think I’m a reasonably responsible adult. I’ve raised two sons, held down jobs, paid bills, and managed to make it through more than five decades without causing any major international incidents. As far as I’m concerned, that’s a pretty respectable record.
However, there’s a difference between being responsible and being innocent.
I’m not always the person doing something stupid. Sometimes I’m just the guy who suggests it. Or asks a question that gets somebody else thinking. Or makes an observation that, under the right circumstances, can lead to a series of increasingly questionable decisions.
I believe the technical term for this is instigator.
The beauty of being an instigator is that you don’t necessarily have to participate in whatever happens next. Sometimes all you need to do is plant an idea and watch it grow. Of course, this doesn’t make you innocent, but it does provide a little distance between you and the consequences. At least that’s the argument I’d like to make.
I’ve always enjoyed being around people who have a similar sense of humor. People who can take a perfectly ordinary conversation and steer it somewhere completely ridiculous without warning. One minute you’re discussing something normal, and the next you’re debating whether a raccoon could successfully operate a vending machine. Nobody remembers how you got there, but everybody suddenly has an opinion.
Those are my kind of people.
The really dangerous ones are the people who don’t need an explanation. You can look at them, raise an eyebrow, and they already know what you’re thinking. Sometimes they start laughing before you’ve said anything. That’s when you realize you’ve found someone who is either going to be a lifelong friend or a very bad influence.
Possibly both.
Having two sons gave me plenty of opportunities to practice this particular talent. When they were little, I was supposed to be the mature one, the voice of reason, the guy who explained why certain things weren’t a good idea. I did that, of course. At least when it mattered. But there were also times when an opportunity for something completely ridiculous presented itself, and I had to decide whether to discourage it or see where it went.
I won’t claim I always made the mature choice.
Now that they’re adults, the dynamic has changed. I no longer have to pretend quite as often that I’m the only responsible person in the room. We can all appreciate a terrible joke, a ridiculous idea, or an observation that probably shouldn’t be repeated in polite company. And occasionally one of them says something that makes me realize the family sense of humor has survived another generation.
I’m not sure whether to be proud or apologize to society.
Longtime friends can be just as dangerous. There’s something about being around people who knew you before you had a mortgage, a career, or any particular reason to behave yourself. They remember the younger version of you, and sometimes they’re more than happy to help bring him back out. It doesn’t take much. A familiar expression, an old joke, or somebody saying, “Remember when…” can turn a perfectly respectable gathering into a room full of people laughing at something that happened thirty years ago.
And sometimes the funniest part isn’t what happened. It’s watching somebody try to explain it to a person who wasn’t there. The explanation usually makes the story sound considerably less funny, which somehow makes everybody who was there laugh even harder.
I’ve written before about being Goofy, and I think there’s a fair amount of overlap between being goofy and being an instigator. The difference is that goofy is something I can accomplish entirely on my own. Instigating generally requires another willing participant, preferably someone with just enough questionable judgment to think my idea might actually be worth considering.
I also appreciate the people who can give it right back. There’s no fun in teasing somebody who doesn’t enjoy it. The best exchanges happen when both people understand the game, nobody’s feelings are getting hurt, and the person you just gave a hard time to comes back with something so good that you have to stop and admire it.
That’s when I know I’m in excellent company.
Of course, sometimes I’m the one who gets caught. As I wrote in Bamboozled, I’ve been on the receiving end of some pretty impressive setups myself. I suppose that’s only fair. If you’re going to enjoy a little mischief, you should probably be prepared to have it directed at you occasionally.
I can appreciate a well-executed joke, even when I’m standing there soaking wet or realizing I’ve just been made the unsuspecting participant in somebody else’s presentation. I might not appreciate it immediately, but give me a few minutes and I’ll probably be laughing along with everybody else.
I think that’s part of what I enjoy about harmless mischief. It doesn’t have to accomplish anything. Nobody needs to learn a valuable lesson, become a better person, or walk away with some profound understanding of the human condition. Sometimes the entire point is simply to make somebody laugh.
And sometimes all it takes is one person willing to ask a ridiculous question.
I’m not saying that every questionable idea deserves encouragement. I’ve lived long enough to understand that some ideas should remain ideas, preferably without anybody attempting to test them. There’s a reason certain things come with warning labels, and I’d rather not become the reason somebody has to print a new one.
But if we’re sitting around having a perfectly ordinary conversation and I suddenly get that little smile on my face, there’s a decent chance I’ve thought of something.
Something probably unnecessary.
Something potentially ridiculous.
Something that might make everybody laugh.
I’m not saying we should do it.
I’m just wondering what would happen if we did.