Do you ever wonder if you’re a horrible person? Well, I don’t have to wonder. I know. About myself, I mean. I have no idea if you are horrible. That’s between you and God.
If you’re nice or, at least, attempting to be nice, you’re probably saying I can’t be that bad. You’ve probably read many of the hilarious things I’ve written on this very blog and, therefore, want to give me the benefit of the doubt.
Rest assured, there are plenty of horrible people who have terrific senses of humor. I mean, did you see OJ Simpson in the Naked Gun trilogy? Right, more stupid than hilarious. But think about Hitler. You think he didn’t know how funny it sounds when you’re screaming at people in German? He knew.
And there’s my first example of why I’m a horrible person:
1. I just used one of history’s worst offenders to make a joke and get a ridiculous point across. That had to have crossed some kind of line.
2. I laugh at inappropriate times. But not just that, I laugh at small children.
I was observing a kindergarten class the other day. And it was a pretty typical day. A kid who is notorious for talking back to his teacher and is constantly out of his seat fell down. But the way he fell was epic. It’s the kind of thing that would have gone viral on YouTube (which would just serve to prove how many of us are horrible people). Somehow he tripped over his own chair and did a face plant. He lay on the floor for a good 30 seconds, unmoving. His legs and arms were all splayed out, as if he were preparing for the CSI guys to show up and make a chalk outline.
My first impulse was to laugh. Is that so wrong? He wasn’t crying. So he wasn’t hurt. And he didn’t even fake cry to make it seem like he was hurt. I’m sure that, as he prepared to stand back up, he knew that if he had been sitting in his chair, as the teacher had asked him multiple times to do, he would still be sitting safely. By the way, his teacher had to stifle a laugh, too.
3. I border on blasphemy by mocking church signs. That’s right, not only will I joke about Hitler, but I make fun of the marquee signs you find in front of some churches. One that I recently saw spelled out, in bright colors, “Jesus is the answer!”
You know me. You know I love Jesus. I think Jesus is every possible kind of awesome. But, at that moment, all I could think was, “What if the question is what is two times two?” I’m sorry, but the answer isn’t Jesus. It’s four.
I used to fool myself into believing that I would be a teacher someday. If that day were to ever come, at some point, I would have to give my students a test. If I were to ever have a student who wrote “Jesus” as the answer to any given question, I would have to give them at least partial credit. Because Jesus is the answer.
How about it? Am I as horrible as I think?