grow up
Dad, when I’m older, I wanna be a comedian. Dad laughs and shakes his head; my first joke lands, a success. How are you going to be a comedian when every joke needs to be explained? It makes people laugh when I’m confused or I say, ‘I don’t get it?’. My confusion makes the joke funnier, a new gag altogether. I begin to understand how the world works a little better – people think it’s funny when I struggle, when I get it wrong, when I ask for help. They feel better, smarter, when they tell me the punchline. Sometimes the whole world feels like one big joke I can’t get in on. Pages and pages of a childhood diary filled:
why am I like this?
when everyone else is like that?
Mum, when I’m older, I wanna be a comedian. Mum looks at me with pity, pulls out a report from my psychologist and highlights key sections:
Carly misses nuances, struggles with humour and jokes, which need to be explained.
Sometimes people laugh at what Carly has said, but Carly isn’t sure what was funny.
Carly sometimes laughs abruptly.
I, personally, find that report to be hilarious. I crack myself up. I’m telling myself jokes inside my head 24/7. Sorry if I seemed deranged when I laughed abruptly out of nowhere – I was thinking about sending my friend a picture of a turtle in a cowboy hat. Bad habit, will fix.
When my psychologist heard about my aspirations, I could tell she didn’t think it was a good idea. Her smile was twisted, and her eyes didn’t crinkle like they usually did when I said something good. Autism is your superpower! You can do anything! But, not this. Finish school first, get a degree, see what’s out there. Baby steps. This will probably pass.
…I don’t think she realises how funny I actually am, in real life, outside that room. But, okay.
When I’m older, I wanna be a comedian. I want to get up on a stage and say something silly. I want to make people laugh for the right reasons – not because I’m shy, not because I stuttered. I want to make people laugh because life is kinda shitty. And when I don’t take myself too seriously, I think that the people around me relax.
I am beating my internalised ableism with a stick. I don’t care if I get up on stage and freeze, throw up, say something so awful that people get up and leave. Sure, my psychologist will pat herself on the back and sleep well, knowing that she is right. I’m sure that my failure will be an amusing story though, one I will tell my friends, the people who always laugh with me. Keyword: with.
One day, I’m gonna be such a mediocre comedian.
It’s gonna be great.