You get used to losing things as you age. Wallets. Cell phones. Even my favorite baseball cap disappeared for a couple of months, then materialized under a couch cushion. (It was found there because my wife had looked under that cushion for my car keys.)
But there’s one vital possession that a person like me should never lose. One of the most treasured tools in the cartoonist’s toolbox is a thing called “a sense of humor.” And mine is gone.
I checked under the bed, the car seats, through the junk drawer. At the grocery store “Lost and Found,” they said I’m not the only one who’s been looking for a lost sense of humor lately.
So now I’m wondering if my sense of humor may have gotten burned up by a tiki torch in Charlottesville. I wonder if it could have gotten absorbed by a tossed roll of paper towels in the aftermath of a deadly hurricane in Puerto Rico. Or maybe it wilted in shame when the leader of my country called African nations and Haiti by an obscene name. Or when that same leader made the #metoo movement into a punchline. Or was it slain with the 5 journalists in the Maryland newsroom shooting? Could my sense of humor be caged along with tiny tots who are separated from their undocumented immigrant parents?
In these times I feel like I desperately need to come to my senses. But it’s awfully difficult when my most treasured sense is gone. If you come across my sense of humor somewhere, please send it home to me. I’ll sure need some light-heartedness to deal with the new Supreme Court.