Bullying has been the cause du jour for a while now. We’ve fixed our collective glare upon victimization everywhere: at school, in the workplace, in the military, on the International Space Station, even online (which I think is what happens when you get sucked into a video game and are forced to do battle in weird cyber-gladiatorial games. I don’t know, people. I did no research for this). Anyway, the anti-bullying movement is part of a larger trend toward kindness and tolerance in this country. And really, I couldn’t be happier with this. I’m all for anything that reduces the shithead quotient in America (as an aside, we wouldn’t even have a bullying problem if they hadn’t canceled the ABC Afterschool Special and, to a lesser extent, the CBS Schoolbreak Special. Think about it). Anyway, my daughters’ classes are visited on a weekly basis by the school counselor, who extolls the virtues of conflict resolution, courtesy, and finding outlets for anger that don’t involve winging a stapler at the teacher. The catchphrase they use is “filling your bucket,” and, by default, the buckets of others — by making other people feel good about themselves, being helpful, etc. It’s all very life-affirming.

But!

A few months ago, we had just finished dinner when my daughter Molly (she’s 6) began doing the “dance” — that half-trudging, slight swaying of the hips number that signals that a trip to the bathroom is in order, even if the dancer isn’t ready to admit it. Her mother made a lighthearted joke complimenting Molly on her form, and I joined in by cracking, “I suppose there’s no way you have to go potty, is there?” It was all very playful, and Molly smiled throughout. I went further, reminiscing how my brother always displayed classic form with his dance. However, my eldest daughter Maddy sternly intoned, “You’re emptying Molly’s bucket when you speak like that!” While we attempted to reassure Maddy that we were only joking, she remained resolute that we should be making no comments of the sort. Molly bolting to the bathroom broke up the exchange. While I didn’t think much about it at the time, I eventually began to wonder: in our efforts to instill the virtues of respect and tolerance in our children, are we killing their sense of humor? I think there is something to be said for being able to differentiate between cracking wise about someone’s weight and laughing about their utterance of a malapropism. Or maybe I’m making too big a deal of this? After all, I spent roughly a quarter of my school years cutting and being cut down by my friends. Who knows? Perhaps I’m trying to justify a misspent youth of fart jokes. Look, it’s not as if I want my kid to turn into Lisa Lampanelli. But I do question if sensitivity training at such an early age doesn’t have an effect on the ability of kids to differentiate between negative and humorous intent. There’s no place for abuse, but there is always a place for levity. Furthermore, to a certain extent, we all need to develop a thick skin. Being able to laugh at oneself and others is a vital life skill. And occasionally teasing my children is my right — nay, duty — as a parent.