Extolling The Value Of Mischief

I could get into real trouble with all of the conscientious young parents I know by espousing the idea that mischief among the young contributes greatly to their healthy growth.

But I can think of nothing worse for a young boy or girl than a childhood or teenage life without at least a pinch of mischief.

And how stilted would an adult would be who had never freed himself or herself up for a spoonful of mischief?

I think the occasional mischievous twinkle in the eye is the hallmark of a well-adjusted individual.

If the ability to be a little mischievous from time to time isn’t just genetically there, or allowed in childhood, it probably isn’t going to ever happen later.

And that would be a pity.

It Depends on How You Define Mischief

Before getting any deeper into trouble with you parents who have enough trouble as it is, let me assert that I‘m not talking about really destructive mischief, or just plain meanness, excused as mischief.

Rather, I’m referring to what I call “good natured” or “wholesome” mischief.”

I will admit, though, that the line between good natured mischief and destructive, mean mischief often gets a little blurred- making it just a little risky to embrace mischief at all.

But I think the risk is worth taking. So let’s look some examples.

Example A, starring “Spray Fiddle”

My friend, Hobart Sailor, was a preacher’s kid, and a master of mischief.

Everyone called him “Fiddle,” but no one seemed to know why.

At any rate, I remember one of my first introductions to Fiddle’s brand of mischief.

We were sitting in church one Sunday, behind one of the stalwart ladies of the congregation. I think her name was Lillie.

The setting was rather peaceful. Fiddle’s father Dwight was in the middle of a long sermon, and we were getting bored, if not nearly asphyxiated by Lillie’s greatly over-applied perfume.

All of a sudden, I thought I saw a very fine stream of water emanate from Fiddle’s mouth and arch over the pew onto Lillie’s hat.

Upon questioning, my buddy I was now calling “Spray Fiddle,” whispered to inform me that if you moved your jaw right, you could spray!

I was amazed at this revelation, and decided to experiment. Lo and behold, I could spray too!

I was in a “thine is not to reason why “ mentality, and only later learned that there is an opening into a saliva gland inside the cheek, and that the proper motion of the jaw would activate it.

Fiddle and I proceeded to spray Lillie’s hat, but occasionally missed and got a little of Lillie.

I would guess that Lillie carried the mystery of the “rain in church” on that Sunday to her deathbed, or alternatively, may have interpreted it as “an act of God” commemorating her Baptism by immersion.

Example B, Starring “Sandwich Act Fiddle”

“Sandwich Act Fiddle,” as I called him on occasion, was also the cause of the only time I was ever kicked out of a class in high school.

He had found a very old ham and cheese sandwich in his locker that smelled to high heaven, and brought it to Chorus class, which met from two to three o’clock in the afternoon.

As Fiddle brought out the sandwich in the middle of our singing of “Go Down Moses,” and began his antics in reaction to the smell and his pretense to eat it, I found it extremely funny and became uncontrollably tickled. Of course, Fiddle kept a straight face.     

As the sandwich found itself in odd places doing odd things, I was somewhat overwhelmed with the humor of it all.

Miss Harmony (name changed to protect the innocent) forthwith asked me to leave and go to the principal’s office.

I met our very stern, no-nonsense principal, Ernest Dickey, on the stairway leading to his office, and he asked me why I wasn’t in chorus.

I told him all the smelly details, and, without a reprimand, he told me to go sit in his office until the period was over, and then go to my next class.

Lucky for me, Mr. Dickey had been my Sunday school teacher for several years, and was convinced that I was a “fine young man,” not in need of dramatic punishment. Ah, the value of “connections.”

But there was no doubt that Sandwich Act Fiddle was the master of mischief.

The Gift of Mischief

From short sheeting and putting hands in warm water at Boy Scout Camp, calling to ask the local grocer if he has “Prince Albert in a can,” to making up weird names for teachers and animal names for friends, kids in Weldon were moved by the spirit of their friend, Mischievous Fiddle.

And many of us–even today–when contributing or appreciating a pun, making a funny remark, engaging in a practical joke, or becoming involved in any mild form of mischief that shines up our otherwise dull day–subconsciously thank Fiddle for his delightful gift of mischief.

Conclusion

Mischievous Fiddle- who enjoyed a long and stellar career as a Methodist Minister and District Superintendent in Michigan- has now passed away.

But his spirit of mischief lives on, and I know he would agree with me in believing that mischief, often accompanied by that certain twinkle in the eye, sort of flushes the stagnation from the soul, and seems to go hand in hand with a more creative approach to life.

It is the seasoning that needs to be sprinkled on the personality, and it is the therapy that puts things in perspective.

So please don’t underestimate the value of mischief in making life interesting and keeping you well adjusted– at any age!