IF WE ARE IN A DON’T LAUGH SITUATION (Don’t look over at me . . .) By Don Kenton Henry

It happened on the occasion of my grandpa’s funeral at Jackson’s funeral home in Rensselaer, Indiana, in 1984.

Most of my family was in the front row directly in front of the casket. My youngest brother and I were on the end of the second row. We were all waiting for the preacher to take the podium, and the organist was playing.

The preacher was apparently delayed, so the organist played on and on. I don’t know how many of you are old enough to remember the Alan Parsons Project. They were an art rock band known to me for their instrumental song that went on and on. I remembered them mostly for 2 in the morning drives between Indiana and Texas. The ethereal notes of that song seeped into my Volkswagon camper van like the smoky mountain fog and through the speakers of my AM radio. Accompanied by the white lines of I65, their duet would lull me into a hypnotic trance.

Anyway, I leaned into my brother, Mark (who was a huge rock fan), and whispered, “This sounds like the Alan Parsons Project.” Welllll … he burst out laughing and vainly tried to muffle it. With that, I put my hand over my mouth and had the same failed result in stifling my laughter. Our shoulders were shaking and we were half bent over in our chairs, more choking than laughing. My grandmother, in her wheelchair, and my mom, Uncle Frank, sister, and other brother turned around and stared with looks that could kill. I’m surprised my grandpa didn’t look up.

My brother and I instinctively decided it was better to appear to be crying than laughing, so we immediately attempted to disguise our laughter as crying. The more we fought the laughter, the more our bodies convulsed with it. My shoulders continued shaking, and I transformed the laughter into loud sobbing as I covered my eyes with my hands to hide my very real tears. I squeezed my core so tight I thought I got a hernia. Snot was running out my nose.

I thought that preacher would never come on. Even when he did, he was occasionally interrupted by a laugh. Errrrrr … I mean a sob. A heartfelt sob.

(Sorry, Grandpa. I really do miss you. )