Unleash Your Inner Bart Simpson

This business about growing up and staying grown-up has all but slaughtered the joy in men, don’t you think? A couple of weeks ago I wrote about joyless men who have turned whining into a sport. The piece had received much reaction from readers so I decided to push the envelope further and figure out what, in fact, leads men to this sorry state, and how, in practice, they can avoid it.

Yes, there is a world-wide economic recession; yes, global warming is a phenomenon that has finally descended upon us; yes, no definitive cure has been found for AIDS nor cancer; yes, terrorism remains a clear and present danger, but there is also this business called living in spite of all.

So how does one make the experience tolerable, if not fun? Laughter, I believe, and a little, if not a whole lot of mischief, from time to time, to make this mind-boggling concept and exercise called living a lot more palatable.

Watch little boys at play, in complete abandon, and oblivious to all that is unpleasant and threatening. Isn’t the image priceless? And isn’t it sad that they, one day, will have to grow up and turn into sourpusses, if they don’t watch it?

Let’s revisit the Peter Pan Syndrome for a minute, that which psychologists have coined to classify men who have never grown up because of a desire to remain young and not face the responsibilities of adulthood. Although it has gained a negative connotation in quasi-psychological use, it is, according to blogger Evan Bailyn of Never Grow Up: A Tribute to Peter Pan, “A normal part of the post adolescent mind set. It is the natural result of anyone who had a good childhood. If, however, the Peter Pan is to completely shun adult responsibilities, he can be said to be a “victim” of this syndrome.”

What of men who thrive in the adult world, of those who hold down responsibilities with efficiency, dependability, and dedication? What of those who are caught up in the daily grind of making ends meet, of feeding, clothing and housing families? And what of those who are vanguards of world peace, of those tasked with keeping the global economy from crashing down? Must they all suppress inner child, slay their Peter Pans?

I hope not. I think it is necessary to nurture it. I find it actually quite refreshing—this childlikeness in grown men, this sense of wonder, this playfulness, this ability to find delight in the corniest of things, this gift of looking at the brighter side when life gets gloomy.

In fact, I would wish for them to take it even a step further, to elevate it into what we shall refer to as the “Bart Simpson Syndrome.” It is that tiny pocket in time and space, where one could revert to a state of devilish menace, something so natural and spontaneous in little boys, as to temporarily unload the stress and the pressure brought on by adulthood.

Remember Bart Simpson, the fictional main character in the animated television series “The Simpsons?” Well, he is ten years old and is the eldest child and only son of Homer and Marge Simpson. His most prominent character traits are his mischievousness, rebelliousness, and disrespect for authority.

Bart has become so popular that TIME magazine named him one of the 100 most influential people of the 20th century. Richard Corliss writes in TIME, “Talk about the arrested development—this kid has been 10 for 11 years. And we hope he stays there. Deplorable, adorable, Bart is a brat for all ages. Bart knows right from wrong; he just likes wrong better. The reason for his appeal is that he’s so brilliant at being bad; his pranks have a showman’s panache…He is a complex weave of grace, attitude and personality…”

Grown men should, on occasion, unleash their inner Bart Simpson as they shed that suit and the tie and all the weight and baggage that come with it and, as the quote from Mark Twain goes, “Dance like nobody’s watching; love like you’ve never been hurt. Sing like nobody’s listening; and live like it’s heaven on earth.”

I have a friend—an articulate and eloquent businessman with a larger-than-life personality—who is simply in love with life. I am in perpetual wonder of how he can remain so positive in light of the disappointments and setbacks that besiege everyone’s life. Once, he was relaying how he had to confront an employee whom he suspected of embezzling money in the six-figure range, earmarked for a particular project. He said he was livid as he spoke to the person, but at that very moment of retelling, he was smiling and laughing at the whole situation. I had expected him to still be foaming in the mouth and fuming out of the ears and nostrils so I asked, “How could you laugh at such a time?” He replied, “Because I called him ugok!” So then, we both laughed. And he added, “It’s done and things won’t get better if I continue to be angry.” Then, he went on to deliver joke after joke after joke, flailing his arms and guffawing away as though there was nothing the matter with his day.

Another friend, a stockbroker this time, resorts to the good old karaoke as his de-stressor of choice. After a particularly trying day at the office, he would head over to his favorite karaoke joint and not only sing and hog the mike until the cows come home but sing rock songs and mimic drugged-out rock stars complete with the head banging and air guitaring and the enacted false exits and reentries to imagined encores. And then just as quietly as he slips off of the grown up, responsible man persona, he slips right back into it when the night is over. How’s that for wild abandon?

Another man, a friend’s friend, a computer engineer this time, plays pranks on his kids during weekends. He claims that he slaves in the office the entire week and looks forward to Saturdays when he can finally put into effect the plans he had been hatching in his mind all week long. He becomes Bart Simpson on weekends. His kids have come to expect the pranks and anticipate them, so their family’s weekend is a fun-filled and dramatic celebration of sorts for the week that was. He tells of his favorite moment, when he replaced an entire bottle of shampoo with honey. His ten-year-old son came rushing out of the bathroom in all his naked glory, dripping with honey from the head down. “Dad! Help!” they boy said, “It’s all sticky and gooey.” To which he answered, “That’s okay son, just ask Mom for pancakes to go with it.” And so later in the day, the son, who, of course, did not fall very far from the tree, ingeniously snuck into his Dad’s shower and liberally poured red powdered dye into the showerhead. So you can expect what happened next, right? This Stanford alumnus of a computer engineer, stepped out of his bathroom, as naked as the day he was born, covered in streaks of red, and still oozing droplets of blood-like liquid from the tips of his hair, literally screaming bloody murder. “And what did your son say?” I asked. He shook his head from side to side and with an impish grin answered, “He said, ‘But Dad, you started it.’” “You didn’t get pikon?” I asked him. “Are you kidding me?” he was laughing now, “Talo ang pikon. I’ll get him good next weekend.”

If simply reading these anecdotes makes you feel lighter, maybe it’s time to unleash your inner Bart Simpson, as long as you don’t hurt anyone and that you do it with a good measure of control. And so to borrow again from the late, great Mr. Twain, “Dance like nobody’s watching…”