Children love nonsense, and we should too.

The importance of laughter and being silly

One of my favorite books as a child was The Stupids Step Out by Harry Allard. This book, along with other influential works like 1984 (and Animal Farm) by George Orwell, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn (and The Adventures of Tom Sawyer) by Mark Twain, Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl, by Anne Frank, Are You There, God? It’s me, Margaret by Judy Blume, Beloved by Toni Morrison, Harry Potter (series) by J. K. Rowling, The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros, Little Women by Louisa May Alcott, and Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare are on the Top 100 Most Frequently Banned Books by the American Library Association.

I’m always curious when people deem that something is too much for others to handle. When I think about all the crap that people go through and witness in life, especially children, anything in book form, unless it was created for harmful purposes, is likely worth exploring. I’ve gotten to the point where if a book is banned, it automatically gets added to my list of must-reads.

Books like The Stupids Step Out helped me to feel normal as a child. The humor matched my imaginative tendencies, including using the word “stupid,” which I thought was hilarious. In the house of the Stupids (their surname), paintings on the wall included a tree labelled “flower,” a flower labelled “tree,” a sailboat labelled “car,” and a bird labelled “dog.” The two kids, Buster and Petunia, climbed on the bottom of the stairwell banister and wondered why they weren’t transported upstairs when they said, “Up we go!”

I don’t want to ruin the (non)plot of the Stupids book, in case you’d like to read it yourself, but you might enjoy this delightful video of the book being read by a woman who gets the point of my post.

Why is it that growing up, we come to believe that nonsense is stupid? Why does everything have to make sense? Why do we feel the need to explain ourselves? Why can’t the longing of our hearts be reason enough? And why do we have such an aversion to stupid? A word that means,

• • slow of mind; (Isn’t this why we meditate—to slow our minds? Minds that can be unruly and full of useless concerns?)

  • dulled in feeling or sensation; (Isn’t this why we drink and partake in adult activities? To dull our senses, especially when we feel overwhelmed?)

  • marked by or resulting from unreasoned thinking or acting; (Reason is overrated. How about valuing our intuition? And our heart’s longing? People use reason to justify selfish, immoral actions all the time. I don’t buy into the idea that unreasoned thinking or acting is necessarily bad.)

  • lacking interest or point. (Why does everything need a point? Why can’t something just be?)

I’m playing with the word stupid in this post, but I do not condone making fun of others in any way, for any reason. Many people have deep wounds from having been called stupid growing up. If this has happened to you, I hope you can release the pain from your experience because you deserve to feel loved and respected for who you are. 🤗 ❤️

I don’t remember when I lost touch with my nonsensicalness, but during a visit with my paternal grandfather, Daniel, in San Antonio, he told me that I was too serious and needed to learn to laugh. This was in 1999, when I was 27 years old. Grandpa kept a manila folder filled with comics he cut and saved from the Sunday funnies, and during my visit, he read each one out loud, cracking up at the humor. I just sat and winced, feeling embarrassed that I couldn’t laugh alongside him. When he called me out, I felt ashamed and was left with a bitter, burning sensation in my throat and stomach.

I do have a sense of humor, and I love to laugh, but it tends to come out when I feel comfortable around the person or people I’m with. I loved my grandfather, but I also feared this generous, charming man who could turn vicious and violent on a dime. Iris, my grandmother, divorced him after years of domestic violence. She wrote the following poem about her experience:

How to (Re)Connect with Your Nonsensical Nature

There is so much that happens in life (some of it good, some not so good) that even when we are surrounded by love, if we have unresolved trauma (which most of us do), it’s hard to experience joy. Many of us have trouble being playful, silly, and having fun. But there are steps that we can take. Here are a few that have been helpful to me.

Make Nonsensical Art

Put pen to paper and see what emerges. Enjoy the act of creating. Be curious about the results.

Read Nonsensical Books

In addition to the Stupids series, I used to enjoy reading A Book of Nonsense by Edward Lear (1812-1888), an English poet, artist, and musician. Here are a few of his limericks:

Put pen to paper and see what emerges. Enjoy the act of creating. Be curious about the results.

Make Nonsensical Zines (handmade booklets)

There are several ways you can do this. One is to find a book that you don’t mind cutting up. Go through the text and cut out words or lines that stand out to you (for any reason; don’t overthink it). Then, rearrange the words and lines to create a new story (or several stories). Grab some glue (a glue stick works well), and paste the lines of text on each page of your zine. Leave room to add images or drawings, if you’d like.

Here are a couple of zines I made using this technique: