The first time I swung my wit around indiscriminately and ended up hurting someone was Christmas day of 1991. We were all at my grandpa’s house—me, my parents, and my brother. Grandpa had recently remarried into a large family, and the tree was amply stocked with presents. I had already gleefully unwrapped a Barbie and a Cabbage Patch doll when I was handed a gift from my brother, Andrew. A gift from across the family tree was something I had not thought possible. Yes, he was older than me, but not by that much…
I tore off the shiny paper to find a purple plastic hairbrush with unicorns or something equally delightful printed on it. Immediately and without missing a beat, I connected two of 34 possible dots in my little brain and, before even saying thank you, said, “You probably just picked purple because it’s your favorite color.” Yep. I was a 5-year-old Mean Girl.
My audience—a group of adults who had no doubt been holding both hands over their hearts and cooing—fell silent. I’ll never forget the look on Andrew’s face. I don’t remember what happened next. He may have denied that purple was his favorite color, and my mom may have told me to say I was sorry. All I remember is the shock I felt when my clever comment fell flat.
This is when I learned the first important lesson about clever comments: when you think of something clever to say, first ask yourself, will this hurt somebody’s feelings? I think the second lesson is to then ask yourself, will anyone actually think this is funny? But my dad saw to it that we skipped over that one.
Ten years later, we were at another family Christmas gathering, this time at my aunt and uncle’s house on the other side of the family. For six months prior, I had been continuously falling head over heels in love with my first boyfriend. We hadn’t even kissed yet, but I had never felt so strongly about another person in my life. He was spending Christmas with his family, and I found it difficult to think about anything else while a group of us strolled around the neighborhood that chilly night.
Since my feelings were the ones to get hurt on this occasion, I don’t remember exactly what was said. I just know that I somehow proclaimed my love for Michael, and Andrew scoffed, in the form of a clever comment, at two high school sophomores being “in love”. I felt stupid. Young and stupid.
Hours later, as I was lying on the couch in the living room, nursing my wounds, Andrew appeared in the doorway. I’ll never forget the look on his face. “At my school,” he said, “my group of friends has gotten into the habit of making witty remarks that are sometimes mean, and I just forgot where I was and that those comments can really hurt. I didn’t mean what I said. I’m really happy for you and Michael.”
My respect for my big brother tripled. I hadn’t considered that one could apologize for making an ill-advised joke. I thought what’s done is done! This was the third lesson of clever comments, and the hardest to implement. But every time I have to do it, I think of my inspiring role model.
Merry Christmas, Andrew! Thanks for leading the charge on growing up.