As I was growing up... and, heck, even now, I've had to deal with the constant disapproval of my father. So I learned to mask.
I muted myself.
Because the last thing I wanted was more disapproval from this man. The disapproval was always there, but if didn't express myself, I would avoid having to handle more disapproval than the baseline.
He would sometimes complain that I was quiet and did not speak my mind. That's because I knew, full-well, that if I did speak my mind, I would expose myself to his disapproval. I presented a muted front.
Is it any surprise that I masked so well that I did not realize my autism until I was 50?
So took no risks in front of him. And among the risks I did not take was the risk of producing jokes that he'd disapprove of, for whatever reason. Because, you know. A good son from a good family surely cannot utter such nonsense.
So these days, every joke, or bit of humor on my part, is me being authentically autistic. Gone is the self-censorship. What replaced it is autistic joy.
All my jokes exist because I reject the mask.
