When I was in second grade I’d won to my mind one of the most prestigious awards that can be bestowed upon a young person: Class Clown.

I still have the award.

The need to generate laughter in my classmates would be an ongoing theme throughout my childhood. (Insecurity? A need to be liked? Ayyh, probably.) Just two years after receiving the award pictured at right, I would find myself spending the better part of the 4th grade sitting in the hall, unjustly punished for the rays of humorous sunshine I’d bring to the classroom each day. Like saying Toilet Paper! instead of “present” when the teacher called my name, taking attendance. I was the Lenny Bruce of Collins Elementary.

Roughly two years after that my parents would do what they could to encourage the interests of their black sheep son, buying him a comedy record as a birthday present. It had a hippie looking dude on the album cover with hair past his shoulders, sitting on a stool in front of a blackboard, feigning a deep nose pick. These were the days before Parental Advisories, and I don’t think my folks had actually heard the routine from the album, because there’s no way I would have been allowed to speak the words I heard on it.  Recognizing this was a huge oversight by my parents, I’d listen to it through my headphones.

In a few months I had both sides of the album memorized I’d heard it so much, which was a good thing because after the one time I listened without headphones, within earshot of Mom and Dad, well let’s just say that that birthday present was quickly replaced by something even Tipper Gore would approve of. But it was a great few months, while it lasted.

My heart broke a little when I heard that George had passed away two days ago. Toward the end his routines were less funny than I remember as a kid, but I still liked knowing George was out there, doing his thing.

Rest in peace, first banana.

“Somewhere out there is the worst doctor in the world. And someone has an appointment with him tomorrow.” - George Carlin