The Comedy Tribune

In 2008, when I started to attend open mics in Toronto as an 18 year old kid, the only comedy that existed in my house was The 3 stooges during family dinner. Any other comedy was purely found by myself as I grew up, things like Just For Laughs and Comedy at Club 54 were on my bedroom TV as much as video games and porn. I honestly looked up to comedians so much, they said such wild things, things I could never imagine saying in my strict, catholic immigrant house.

My parents moved from Portugal in the 70s in hopes of having a better life for their kids, and here I was, smoking pot and laughing at dick jokes. I don't think I was what they had in mind, mind you, I was an admitted mistake child as I came into their world when they already had a young son and daughter, and at the ripe age of 38 and 36.. BAM.. One more kid. I was the third child in an already established family, and it's truly and honestly my belief that the youngest child is always the funniest. They have to be, they need the attention, they need the love and adulation that comes with being 'the funny one'.

Sad part was.. my brother was the funny one. I grew up in the 90s and my brother was like our own Adam Sandler. He was so goofy and loveable, with such incredible timing. I can remember certain moments like they happened yesterday, once during a family dinner where my aunts and cousins were surrounding the TV to watch a news story about a landslide that had occurred in the Azores, my aunt Gloria yelled out, " ITS ON!! NOT A SQUEEK FROM ANYONE" and my brother instantly went "Squeeeeeeeeeeek" and the whole basement erupted. Everyone who just a second ago looked sad, was now laughing and smiling. That moment right there was my first taste of tragedy and comedy, and forever changed my outlook as to what comedy could be, a healer.

When I began to watch/perform comedy live, there was something I picked up on right away. Not everyone was good. Which at the time to me was shocking as I had only seen good comedians on TV, it had pulled back the curtain on what comedy actually was. It wasn't this clean cut, perfectly made for TV showcase I had seen so many times growing up, it was dirty, weird, people didn't laugh and there wasn't always an audience. If you've never performed comedy on an amateur level I'm gonna let you in on a little entertainment secret. Amateur comedy sucks. Big time. More then you could ever imagine. Late nights, bombing, subway rides home alone with only the feeling of the set you just had weighing you down, leaving you thinking... Why am I doing this?

And then one night it happens, one of your jokes hit, you win over the audience and have a killer set ! Nothing compares, not sex, not drugs, not your mothers cooking. Nothing. But like every great feeling it disappears the second you're alone again, the second you're not in the comedy club and on your couch theres something that tells you to do it again, and again, and again, until you're so funny that every second up there is a high, every laugh is an orgasm and each time you step off you come down.

I remember getting to this point in my life and I still hadn't told my parents that when I left at night to go out after work that I was going to tell jokes. I remember feeling ashamed like I was hiding something from them, I felt weird when they'd ask me where I was going, because I didn't want them to think I was serious about this...but I was. It was the most serious thing in my life. During the day I worked as a labourer on a construction site and all day I would listen to comedy album after comedy album. And this was pre music streaming services so all these albums had been downloaded off of torrents sites or uploaded from physical CDs. The passion was real and I was becoming more aware of it with each passing day.

After about 2 years of open mics and the occasional spot at the Yuk Yuks in Toronto, I finally let my parents know that I was thinking about doing comedy some day as a job.

Till this day, I can recall the look on my fathers face and what he said next haunted me for years off stage. He said "why you gonna do that, why you wanna be a clown, a clown is no job for a man". It almost made me cry, because I knew he meant it, I knew the kinda old school guy he was and I knew that he couldn't believe and imagine that a man could make a living telling jokes. In the Portuguese culture theres almost no stand-up comedy that relates to my fathers age group, today there is a thriving scene thanks to comedians like Fernando Rocha and The Portuguese Kids, but when my father was young there was nothing. Except clowns.

For the next few months I worked harder then ever, using my fathers negative out-look to fuel my passion for comedy, to motivate me on stage to be the best I could be. I even entered a comedy contest called The Cream of Comedy in 2010 where the top 20 comedians got to perform at The Second City in hopes of being crowned The Tim Sims Award Winner for best new comic. At the time I was working on Front Street and Blue Jay Way at a condo site that was going up. I could see the Second City each day from my site and would picture myself winning it all, how proud my parents would be of me, to see me succeed at something I was passionate about.

Performing at the TIm Sims’ Cream of Comedy 2010

And then the day came, I had made it past the first part of the contest and into the finals where 5 young comics would battle it out for top cheese in front of a sold-out Second City audience. In comedy, competitions are stupid but when you're starting out they can be great ways to grow and get your name out there. I remember being so nervous when I invited my parents to the show, I informed them that it was a big night for me and that I had worked really hard to get here. My mother, god bless her seemed genuinely happy for me, but my father, seemed less enthused.

The show was incredible, the energy, infectious. I can still feel it inside me somewhere, trapped forever in my soul, fuelling me positively past any negativity that tries to take me over. I don't remember where in the show I went on, but I had a great set, lots of laughs and I felt comfortable under the pressure and spotlights. When the time came to announce the winner, I couldn't hear or see anything, I could only feel. I could feel my heart pounding, I could feel the sweat pooling in my palms, and I could feel the nervousness amongst the other comedians on stage. And then they said it.

This years winner for the Tim Sims Award for best new comedian is.... Mike Rita!

Two years of writing, performing, bombing, learning, crying, laughing, travelling, getting lost, waking up early, going to bed late, doubt, belief and passion had led to this. It was the greatest moment of my life and my father wasn't there to see it. He didn't hear the laughter, he didn't feel the applauses, he didn't see the hugs and handshakes from the people who were congratulating me on my win. And I didn't care, why? Because fuck'em thats why. Comedy will teach you to have a fuck'em attitude. Don't get me wrong, I love my father and since then he's come around to this being my career choice. But also since then I've been featured on JFL42 and Just For Laughs Montreal, signed and toured with Yuk Yuks Comedy Clubs, recorded 3 comedy albums, two of which hit #1 on the iTunes comedy charts and one to be released on 420 this year. So, you know.. F U DAD !

If I had let my doubts control my actions, if I had let my father’s negative words hurt me, if I had let the million other things that have made me doubt my life choices bring me down, I wouldn't know all the amazing things that are on the other side of those feelings. In todays world, where we can see other peoples success broadcast and fed to us through TV and social media, we must not forget that our own success is out there, waiting for us to find it, to grow it from a little belief seed into an almighty life tree. Go grow your dream, water your beliefs and let your true self grow. Just because there was no comedy in my house, didn't mean there wasn't a comedian inside.

Mike RIta - @Ritathesir