Just over a month ago I met one of the funniest young men I’ve ever had the pleasure to encounter — my infant son, Jackson.
I know, I’m biased, you might think. But I’ve been in this comedy racket for three decades, and I think I can judge talent when I see it.
Granted, right now he’s doing a lot of poop jokes and mugging. But isn’t that the combination that earned Jim Carrey the big bucks?
Based on his early work,I booked young Jackson into the New Year’s Gala at Massey Hall as the New Year’s baby. Usually we get a comic to dress up in a diaper, but in the case of some grossly overweight comedians,the fabric was costing us a fortune. But Jackson comes with his own wardrobe, always a plus.
The gig will benefit my son, especially when he gets older. When hassled by no-talents, he’ll be coolly able to say,“Oh, yeah? I’ve played Massey Hall. Have you?” My baby wasn’t exactly planned, but having a first child before I turned 60 was on my bucket list.
Children never figured prominently into my life, but I was always intrigued by their innate ability to be funny and appreciate comedy.
Jon Stewart may be the most sophisticated comic around, but it probably all started for him with a game of peekaboo.
And if all children are naturally funny, what happens along the way to adulthood? Why do most of us lose our inner gift for comedy? And why do only a few of us become Howie Mandel or Martin Short?
Although never formally studied, conventional wisdom seems to hold that comedy is environmentally predetermined.
A lot of factors need to coalesce to produce the odd stew that makes someone able to move a roomful of strangers to guffaws. Most comics I know are too fat, too thin, too poor, too wealthy, too unloved, too loved, etc, and without those external factors wouldn’t be able to be funny.
But consider these examples of comedy DNA: The great comic Albert Brooks’s father was a famous radio comic who went by the stage name of “Parkyakarkus.” Brooks’s brother is Bob Einstein, better known as “Super Dave” Osborne.
There’s the Wayans family:
Damon, Shawn, Marlon and Keenan. And then there’s Abby Elliott, the youngest current cast member of SNL.
Her father is Chris Elliott, who was a long-time regular on the David Letterman Show and whose father was Bob Elliott from the seminal radio duo Bob and Ray — a generational trifecta of superb comedy skill.
In my family, my mother was the funny one. A former child actor on the Yiddish stage, my mother was a great storyteller, punctuating her tales with hilarious impressions and opinions. My friends would make appointments with her for tea, just to hear her monologues.
By the end of her life, confined to a wheelchair in a nursing home, she would hold court as she made fun of the other patients out of earshot: an octogenarian Joan Rivers confined to a motorized scooter.
You would think, then, that she would have encouraged me in my pursuit of a comedy career, but this was not the case.
Unlike my mother,I would not be upset if my son followed in my footsteps, but I wouldn’t insist on it.
Of course, since he’s already playing the soft seat theatres such as Massey, there’s likely no stopping him. I can hardly wait to find out. After all, he’s my boy.
