Brookings resident Carl Kline is an ordained clergyman, part-time teacher and occasional blogger.

There are some friends, when we speak with them, laughter comes easy. We either have a history of mischief to recall (or perhaps to pursue), or comedic situations we unexpectedly shared. We know each other well enough, the kidding can be pointed but compassionate. I would wish such friends on everyone, especially those so worried by the world around them they can’t get their head out of their hands.

A recent phone call with a mischievous, practical joker left me high on endorphins. Reciting past tricks on each other and predicting future ones, we laughed and joked repeatedly. I realized afterwards that I was high on endorphins, although the purpose of the call was primarily to share some difficult news.

We all have endorphins. They are hormones produced in our brain and pituitary gland. Their function is to block pain and increase our sense of well-being. Who needs morphine when we have natural hormones that serve a similar purpose; all we need is the right trigger or trigger-happy friend. Laughter does the same feel-good, hormone-producing work for the body as sex or eating chocolate.

I tend to agree with Rita Mae Brown when she writes: “I’m beginning to feel that the real endangered species on planet Earth are not the whales and the elephants but those of us who can laugh at the world and ourselves … I fear the dry turn of the American mind, this focus on the literal, as much as I fear our capacity for self-destruction. … Where’s the energetic wit, the loony outlook, the frivolity, the lightness of comforting laughter?”

In the 19th century when comic strips first developed, they were given that name because they were meant to be comical, to make people laugh. Now they are defined as, “a medium used to express ideas with images, often combined with text or other visual information.” They no longer have to be humorous. Now we have superhero comics, slice-of-life comics, non-fiction comics and humorous comics. I’d like a return to the original meaning of the term. I want to laugh.

I may not read all of the editorial page in the local paper, but I always, without fail, read the comics. In a recent segment of “For Better or for Worse,” the family dog died after saving the child from drowning. It wasn’t funny! It was sad! Nobody reading it was going to laugh or get high on endorphins. On the other hand, some comics, like “Peanuts,” can combine slice-of-life with humor. “Pickles” and “Blondie” are similar. We can identify with their characters and laugh at our all-too-human foibles.

But my favorite by far (I always read it last; perhaps hoping for some lasting endorphins), is “Baby Blues.” Zoe, Hammie and Wren are children worth watching and their parents are troopers beyond imagining. As the lone boy, usually oblivious to his problematic behavior, Hammie is my star of the show. (Perhaps because my granddaughter accuses me of being oblivious to my behavior: off in the ether someplace while everyone else is in the real world.)

In a recent comic strip, Hammie says: “I have garlic butter on my elbows, spaghetti sauce in my hair and parmesan cheese in my underwear.” His father’s reaction is, “then dinner must be over.” Looking at father, mother says, “And you have bath duty.”

I identify with Hammie. I always wonder how that spot of spaghetti sauce got on my sweatshirt, or how the cracker crumbs got on the floor.

Edward de Bono writes: “It has always surprised me how little attention philosophers have paid to humor, since it is a more significant process of mind than reason. Reason can only sort out perceptions, but the humor process is involved in changing them.”

And then again, from Ogden Nash: “Humor is hope’s companion in arms. It is not brash, it is not cheap, it is not heartless. Among other things I think humor is a shield, a weapon, a survival kit.”

May your day be filled with humor; at the least some knowing smiles, if not the fullness of unbridled laughter.