Not very funny

If you don't at least occasionally discuss what goes on in your head with a therapist, I'd recommend it. I was talking with mine recently, and I recalled how, as a child, my father would often position himself at the top of the stairs and keep yelling "Who do you think I am?", "I am your FATHER!" and other booming shock and awe type declarations to intimidated his children and demand respect. I remember laughing a little inside, thinking what a poor memory he must have to have to keep asking us such an obvious question. But this was my father's way of demanding his form of police-state control. He was a former cop, and I think it never left him. To this day, I am unnerved when I think a police car may be about to pull me over. I never think of cops as public "servants" - I control my nervousness and remember to only say "yes sir". My childhood was an unsafe playground. It was promoted as a Disney movie to the outside world, but all too often playing out like a Hitchcock gotcha! or Steven King horror. Like most kids, we rode bikes and built snow forts, and ate ice cream. We were also locked outside the house many Saturdays, missed out on the love of a father, witnessed the abuse of our mother, and felt deeply afraid. I hated the pain my family lived in, so I learned to find humor in life. I learned to make humor in life and became the family comedian and peace maker. I lightened the mood and pulled tricks out of my hat all in hopes to distract us from our reality and pass the time till we could escape. I specifically remembered one time when dad stood at the top of the stairs after he was in a rage. He yelled at me "You think everything is a big joke! Everything is NOT a big joke!" Those words stung this little boy. He created the pain that demanded a way to cope. He forced me to cling to humor - and now he mocked me for clinging to all I had. Once he realize that hurt me, he said it many times again. Now, as an adult, I still cling to humor as a way to dilute the pain and disappointments of life. I wonder if growing more healthy means being less funny? At this point, I just see things differently - and naturally see the humor. But I may need to sit in some of these moments and let the humor pass by - and just say that I am hurt when I am hurt. And Dad, if you are listening... You were right, and now I am not smiling. I am not joking. I am hurt. I see myself standing at the top of the stairs and I see you, a little boy still wanting someone to tell you who you are - but I can't fix that for you. All I can do is suggest that you too find a good shrink.