“Poor Bryce.

Surrounded by women his whole life.” And again everyone laughed.

Again I laughed along.

It took me years — too many years — to understand that certain family jokes are not jokes at all.

They’re confessions, dressed up in a laugh so that no one has to be accountable for them.

The genius of a joke like that is that there’s no answering it.

If you object, you’re the humorless one, the one who can’t take a bit of family teasing, and now the room’s discomfort is your fault instead of theirs.