I Hate the Oldest Joke in the World
As a child I wasn't bought new books very often. I was actively encouraged to read and I was often engrossed in some sort of book, both fiction and non-fiction, but they were (very sensibly) borrowed from the local library or purchased second-hand.
My parents took us away for a break somewhere in the UK when I was about seven. As we visited some seaside town (think Cromer or similar) we had a look in a bookshop. There was title that caught my eye.
"THE JOKE MUSEUM: SPECIAL EXHIBITION - INSIDE: THE OLDEST JOKE IN THE WORLD!"
I had to have it. Not only could I read jokes and be amused, but I would also learn a fact - the oldest joke in the world! My parents purchased this for me and I was excited to take it home and start studying to become a comedic mastermind. To buy a jokebook brand new seems quite extravagant so I must have really pestered them for it or managed to impress upon them that it was essential for me to be able to grow into a well-adjusted person and a functional member of society.
Now most people, even most children, probably would have opened this book in the store and flipped straight to the end to find out what the oldest joke in the world was, but not me. I wanted to earn this knowledge; I wanted to build the tension until I was worthy of the final reward.
I didn't look at the last page. I didn't blast through the book in one sitting. I savoured the book. I rationed myself to a page or two each night of jokes before bed to prolong the enjoyment of my crisp new book. The tension wasn't just created through the limitations I set upon myself though, no. The book was illustrated throughout in a comic book style and museum theme. As the end of the book drew closer, each page depicted children waiting in line at this imaginary museum of excitement. The authors knew that they were holding a precious nugget of knowledge from the reader and they teased them.
I can still remember my anticipation as I finished the penultimate page. Beads of sweat trickled down my forehead. My fingers trembled as I slowly turned the page and revealed my prize.
What I saw a a drawing of a museum exhibit surrounded by so many cartoon children that the main attraction, a framed painting or picture, was nearly entirely obscured apart from sections of its frame. The faces of children stared out of the page and mocked me. I didn't get it - where was the oldest joke? Why was it covered up?
I remember showing this page to my parents and asking for an explanation. They didn't know. Without context it probably would have been difficult to work out. I spent time trying to decipher this last page as if there was a hidden meaning. I acutely aware that I was still a child and some things were beyond my comprehension. I felt disappointed. Defeated. Silly. Cheated. I had intentionally built myself up for nothing. I closed the book and forgot about it.
Until a few years ago that is when I remembered this book and the pang of childhood woe. It bubbled up from my subconscious and the meaning struck me. When I say struck me, I mean that it hit me so hard I nearly fell over.
The oldest joke in the world was that there was no joke. It was deception. The joke was on the reader, the innocent, gullible child. Similar to someone pointing in the sky and yelling 'look', but nothing being there, I had been had.
This book hurt me twice. Once as a sweet and innocent child, hungry for just a piece of knowledge with my jokebook, and once again as an adult. On paper - excuse the pun - I'm sure that the idea of no payoff at the end of a jokebook is quite funny, but I think this book contributed to my sceptical and jaded personality. It caused a little bit of my childhood to die. It was my first experience of the crushing feeling of disappointment in others.
Here the book is on GoodReads. Thanks, Sandy Ranford. How does it feel to have illustrated a lie, David Mostyn?
Image Source: An eBay Listing by rosagd04 hobbies https://www.ebay.co.uk/itm/251436444163 (I do have a copy of the book myself but I can't find it, and I'm not sure I want to. It's probably water damaged from my childhood tears)