A guy getting hit in the crotch with a football is funny (unless that guy is you of course). Every time. I think it’s hard-wired in the brain, at least for males. Perhaps it’s a caveman mentality holdover – we have lots of these, by the way. A rival who receives reproductive trauma might not end up as a rival at all, at least in the genetic rat race. Those cavemen were pretty sophisticated.

In the past, Isabella would always burst into laughter whenever one of us got hurt. If there was any concern in her, it was buried beneath the hoots of laughter, and we never noticed it. I thought it was great because that’s a typical response for a kid (and childlike parents).

Now, however, Isabella’s emotional radar is almost hyper-sensitive. For example, if I become frustrated, I will often try to hide it by using a soft voice with her, but she sees right through that.

“Can you come here, please?” I might ask for the third time.
“Are you angry?”
“No, honey. I just want you to come here when I call you instead of jumping and crashing into things for a few more minutes.”
“Are you frustrated?”
“No! Just come here please.”
“You sure look frustrated.”
“Get over here!”

That’s a nightly ritual we have. Someday we’ll look back on those exchanges with fondness, assuming we find the right counselors.

In spite of the above, we thought Isabella might like “America’s Funniest Home Videos.” We occasionally eat dinner in front of the TV on Fridays, and the only show that we all like is Sponge Bob. Isabella doesn’t like Madeline’s “iCarly,” and the reverse is true for Isabella’s “Wow, Wow, Wubbzy.” So when AFV (note how I’m following the lead to hipness by adopting the acronym, much like KFC) came on, we taped it and started it up at dinner.

“Is he okay?” Isabella asked almost immediately. “Did that hurt her?” “Are they going to be all right?!” She was near tears at times.

Carrie started with, “I think he’s okay,” but eventually switched to a little self-serving optimism. “Everyone’s okay in this show. Nobody got hurt. They thought it was funny too.” Sometimes I wonder about that.

As a quick aside, have any of you ever watched the Spanish language versions of AFV? Holy cow, they take it to another level. I remember seeing a commercial for one of these in which a guy on a moped slammed into a metal pole, his collarbone taking the full brunt. To kick it up, the editors had added a “Boin-oin-oin-oing” sound at impact, then rewinded and fast-forwarded the impact repeatedly. Somehow the laugh tracks didn’t convince me, though I did get a kick out of the sheer over-the-topness (a little literary laziness there).

The AFV injury conversation morphed into a humor discussion. “Why is that funny?” she asked at one part. I had no answer; it just was. Does anyone really know what makes something funny?

Later that night, Isabella jumped into my story to add that after the witch’s inevitable defeat, the witch got turned into a big cookie, and then a frog jumped over and ate it. I busted out laughing, and she asked me why it was funny. This time I had an answer. It was funny because it was silly. It was funny because it was unexpected. It was funny because it sounded like my Isabella.