Do you know someone who is a natural storyteller? Someone who lures your attention, captures it, and never lets go? I do. It’s my son. Over the years, he has told me stories that have left me breathless from laughing and crying. He has a way of using facial inflection and voice variations that bring his words to life. Let me tell you why I was making the bed shake at one a.m., and it’s not for the wink, wink, reason you may be thinking.
Once a week I meet my son for dinner. We hug, we eat, we fill each other in on our shenanigans. Tonight, when he started to tell me about his work, I wasn’t expecting to lose it with laughter, but I did. And it wasn’t just a chuckle. It was a head on the table, wheezing for breath, can’t look him in the face or I’ll die laughing, laughing. This is roughly how the story went …
Son: So, sometimes if I take my eye off the CNC machine for one second it will start to cut the boards on the diagonal instead of in straight lines. (He uses a napkin and a finger as cutting blade to give me a visual.) When this happens, the whole mess ends up in the scrap bin, which is bad enough, but sometimes when it cuts off a small corner, the trajectory of the spinning blade sends the chunk of wood flying like a missile.
Me, half-smiling, half-concerned: Isn’t that dangerous?
Son: Yes. It can be. Recently we had some temporary workers at the shop to help out with a big project. One of those guys was rather beefy and unusually crabby. I tried to stay out of his way.
Me, smiling as I think about that pictorial.
Son: I was running a batch of boards on the CNC machine—all was fine—and then I turned away to grab another board from the pallet. When I turned back, the machine had gone wonky and was doing its diagonal-cut thing. Before I could stop the machine, a corner of wood—small, but sharp—went blazing across the room like a comet. The big beefy guy had his back to me when it struck him smack on the head.
Me, starting to birth a laugh during a pregnant pause: What happened then?
Son: Well the guy put his hand to his head, and then slowly started panning the room to see who had thrown a chunk of wood at him. He was not happy and acted like someone was out to get him.
Me, squirming not to laugh. You shouldn’t laugh when someone gets hurt.
Son: As he’s turning to scan the workers our eyes lock. I didn’t know what to do! And so I did the worst thing possible– I gave him one of those toothy frozen-face smiles. The guy holds up his hand and shows me a little blood. I couldn’t stop myself—Lord only knows why—but I smiled bigger.
Me, tears streaming from my eyes as silent shaking takes over my body.
Son, seeing me cracking up: I know, right? It is kind of funny. Or it was until I realized this human slab of anger was probably going to come over and beat the spit out of me. My heart was pounding like this…(he pantomimes squeezing his heart while making a sucking squishy sound).
Me, head on the table, laughing into my napkin: Did he? Did he beat the spit out of you?
Son: Nah, he stormed into the office and told the manager. A few moments later the manager wandered over and asked what happened. I explained the machine sent the chunk flying, and he said, “Yeah, that happens.†But geez. The tough guy stayed in the office for over two hours, and then he never came back to work.
Me: So, um, nothing more came of it?
Son: Well, not really. A woman at the shop stopped by and showed me several bruises. “What a whiner that guy was! I’m getting hit by flying wood pieces all the time. Pfft. Wuss.â€
Maybe it was the timing of the story. Maybe it was because I’d had a stressful day. Maybe I just needed a cathartic giggle dump, but I couldn’t stop laughing. Mostly because of the way my son reacted to the anger of the behemoth guy… wide-eyes coupled with a frozen smile that implied intention and guilt.
Late at night, I had another fit of laughter as I thought about it. My body shook, and my nose ran. For a brief moment, my husband joined in because giggles are contagious, and then pleaded with me to go to sleep. I laughed harder. He turned over and put a pillow over his head.
Good stories and healing laughter? The best part of my day!
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