Bipolar Thoughts

In high school, I often found myself in a role that I relished.

In school I tended to be the class clown. I would crack jokes and talk a lot and offer commentary on whatever we were studying. I felt emboldened to act this way because I almost always had the answer when the teacher called upon me, especially when I was fooling around, and all in all, I was a good student. The teachers liked me. I liked the fact that I could make the teachers laugh. Making students laugh is easy, cracking a teacher, who knows laughing is the wrong thing to do, is tough. And to this day I remember those teachers that I never made laugh. It has stuck with me, a painful memory I guess.

I was the class clown for the same reason every class clown falls into that role: I was mildly funny, I was smart enough, and I wasn’t good at much else. I got people to like me by making them laugh, because I wasn’t good at sports and I didn’t drive a cool car and I wasn’t overly attractive. Even today in my closest group of friends I am known as ‘the funny one’.