I used to watch 'The Waltons' and sob because my family was

In the grand story of life, there are moments when we are shown images of what the ideal family or the perfect existence should look like. Paula Poundstone reflects on this deeply when she shares, "I used to watch 'The Waltons' and sob because my family was nothing like that. We had a cruel sense of humor in my family." These words, laden with both sorrow and revelation, speak to a universal truth: the world we are born into, the families that shape us, do not always mirror the warmth and affection we might see in idealized portrayals. Yet, in the cruelty or harshness of humor, as Poundstone notes, there can be hidden truths that reflect the nature of those very families—their coping mechanisms, their survival strategies, and the love that, though veiled in sharp wit, is present beneath the surface.

In the ancient world, humor, like every emotion, had its purpose and its place. The great philosopher Aristotle spoke of humor not merely as a tool for enjoyment, but as a means of understanding the world around us. He recognized that different forms of humor arise from different places—laughter born of joy, of recognition, and at times, of discomfort. There are those who, like Poundstone’s family, use sharp humor as a form of coping with life's difficulties—an armor to protect themselves from the pains that they cannot fully express. Just as Aristotle would have observed, this type of humor, while perhaps cruel, is still a reflection of the inner struggles that the family faces. In their sharpness, there may also be love, though it is cloaked in a more jagged form.

Consider, children, the tale of the great Spartan warriors. Their society, renowned for its toughness and discipline, did not embrace soft comforts. They valued strength, resilience, and the ability to endure hardship. The training of the Spartans was marked by a grueling sense of humor, one that pushed each individual to their limits. In the midst of their harsh upbringing, they mocked and teased each other, not as a means of cruelty, but as a way to build strength and resilience in the face of adversity. The humor, though harsh, was a reflection of the Spartan belief that life was a constant struggle, and only by confronting it with strength—mental, physical, and emotional—could one survive.

In much the same way, Poundstone reflects on the humor of her own family. Sharp and perhaps painful at times, their humor was a way of confronting the world they lived in—one that, at least in their eyes, was far from the idyllic image of family life portrayed in shows like The Waltons. Just as the Spartans' humor was shaped by the demands of their harsh world, so too was Poundstone’s family’s humor shaped by their own experiences and struggles. What appeared as cruelty to an outsider was, in fact, their way of navigating the complexities of family life and finding strength in the face of hardship.

Ah, children of the earth, let us learn from this. Not every family, not every life, is painted with the broad strokes of warmth and peace that we often see in stories. Some are marked by struggle, and in those struggles, humor—no matter how sharp—becomes a shield. Yet, this does not mean that we should embrace cruelty or harshness in our humor as an end in itself. The lesson lies not in perpetuating the sharpness of such humor, but in recognizing that, beneath it, there may lie the unspoken love or the desire to protect. Just as the Spartans endured harsh training to build strength, so too does the sharp humor of families serve to prepare the heart for the challenges of the world.

The lesson is not to accept or glorify cruelty, but to understand that humor—like all things—comes from the place where the soul seeks refuge. If you find humor to be sharp or painful, do not judge it too quickly. Recognize that it may be a way for someone to cope, to build resilience, to shield themselves from the harshness of life. In your own life, children, seek to transform that which is sharp into something that heals. Use humor not to wound, but to connect—to lift, not to break.

So, children of the earth, when you are faced with difficult circumstances or harsh humor in your own family or community, do not turn away from it in judgment. See it for what it is—a form of coping, a way of finding strength in the face of hardship. But also, recognize that there is always space for a gentler humor, one that fosters connection and love, and does not leave wounds in its wake. In the sharpness of humor, let there be space for healing, for understanding, and for the deeper love that binds us all.