Sarcasm can be a positive force to relieve anger
So, this Tuesday you can read my answer to a nice woman's question about the use of sarcasm in the English language. I say that sarcasm is deeply woven into our culture. It can be cruel and hurtful. But it also can be a positive force. At the heart of American humor. It can actually nurture marital and family bonds.
What I forgot to include is that sarcasm also is a way to discharge anger. Let me show you how it's done:
Effective immediately, the Palo Verde High School student handbook now disallows the following behaviors:
No shaking hands.
No variations of "high-fiving."
No picking your nose.
Girls, that thing you do where you move your hand up behind your ear and flip and play with your hair when you're flirting with us? Against the rules.
No waving hello.
You can no longer use sign language to make peace treaties with tribal peoples who don't speak English.
No shadow puppets.
No pretending your hands are binoculars.
No biting your fingernails.
No public manicures.
No sticking your thumb out to hitchhike.
Do not raise your hand when you want the teacher to call on you.
Football and basketball refs can no longer explain penalties with hand signals. Fans will just have to guess.
No sticking both thumbs out and placing your fists on opposite sides of your head like buffalo horns.
No Junior Birdman.
No scratching your butt.
Baseball players: no rearranging your underwear and family jewels before stepping into the batter's box.
Absolutely no signing for the deaf!
No pointing when giving campus directions.
Teachers, do not raise your index finger in the air when scolding and lecturing students. We know you went to school a long time to learn how to do this. But you'll just have to find another way.
What do all these things have in common? They look too much like gang signs.
Oh, sorry. My bad. I mean like "throwing gang signs." Turns out American young people are all wizards and sorcerers. They don't merely make hand gestures. Those gestures "throw" something. Some energy? A curse? An evil spirit? A jelly doughnut? I don't know. But whatever "gets thrown" apparently sticks to the target in some very unpleasant fashion, causing a life-or-death crisis requiring swift retribution.
If you throw a gang sign, you need to be punished. Your punishment is you have to "get scared." And the way you "get scared," it turns out, is that the person at whom you threw the signs, or the person who saw you scratching your butt and mistook you for throwing signs, or the boyfriend of the person who saw you scratching your butt mistaking it for a gang sign ... wait, where was I? ...
Oh yeah! So, the way you "get scared" is that, well, somehow there is this Designated Scarer. (I guess I don't exactly know how he or she gets elected. Might or might not be the one with the jelly doughnut stain on his/her shirt.) But you get your "getting scared" punishment by getting bullets put into your vital organs. Or, sometimes you "get scared" by bullets going into the vital organs of the honor student standing next to you.
I'm told the Designated Scarers are aiming for the air around you, but these guys aren't known for great marksmanship.
So you can see why we added the rules to the handbook. Sorry for the inconvenience, but it's for your own protection.
Wasn't like this when I went to high school. We only had one hand sign: The Bird. We didn't throw it. We flipped it. Then we postured and bumped chests and maybe if it got really bad, we used the "F" word. A few times a year there were fisticuffs. A black eye. Bloody nose. Detentions. Suspensions. Parents were called. The PE teachers kept boxing gloves in the equipment cage and would occasionally allow two kids with fragile egos to wail on each other for a while. Under strict supervision, of course.
But never funerals. I never went to one funeral as a result of hand gestures.
So, that's it. Sarcasm 101. It's useful when you're terrified and, because you're terrified, you're angry. So very, very angry. So angry that this morning when I drove by the makeshift memorial for Christopher Privett, I could barely breathe.
I reached up to tousle my boy's hair, and told him to have a great day.
Steven Kalas is a behavioral health consultant and counselor at Clear View Counseling Wellness Center in Las Vegas and the author of "Human Matters: Wise and Witty Counsel on Relationships, Parenting, Grief and Doing the Right Thing" (Stephens Press). His columns appear on Tuesdays and Sundays. Questions for the Asking Human Matters column or comments can be e-mailed to skalas@reviewjournal.com.
