This article appeared as "Laughing Matters” in the Summer 2026 issue of Independent School.
Alli Frank and Asha Youmans met 15 years ago at Bertschi School (WA), but it wasn’t until they found themselves working in admissions together—eight-hour Saturdays, nonstop family visits—that their real partnership began. At the end of an especially long day, the two ended up in Youmans’s classroom, laughing until it hurt about the things kids—and their parents and caregivers—had said along the way. That shared sense of humor didn’t just get them through admissions season; it became the foundation for a creative collaboration that has since produced five novels, three set in independent schools, tackling issues of race, religion, culture, class, privilege, and parenting with wit and heart. In this edited exchange, Frank and Youmans—now both full-time writers—reflect on their funniest classroom moments, the power of laughter in schools, and why joy still matters deeply in education.
Alli Frank: Asha, you spent years in the classroom as a pre-K teacher. Is there one moment that still stands out as the funniest?
Asha Youmans: It’s hard to pick just one. But one that stands out involves not just students, but the humor that comes with working closely with families—guardians, parents, and grandparents. I once had a parent-teacher conference in my pre-K classroom about a student who was a great kid but loved to “explore.” I’ll call him John. John loved to see what other kids had in their lunchboxes, coat pockets, and backpacks. So, I needed to talk with his parents about boundaries—without using the word I really wanted to use.
Frank: John was a thief.
Youmans: John was a thief, but “thief” is not a word you want to hear about your 4-year-old. So, figuring out how to talk to his parents about their kid became deeply amusing to me. When I explained the boundaries we were teaching John, his parents said, “Well, he’s exploring with his hands. He’s looking at his environment. He’s really inquisitive.” And what I wanted to tell them was, “Listen, he’s a thief. And even though he’s inquisitive, there’s still $10 missing from my purse.” I was doing all these mental gymnastics trying to communicate that their child was stealing while still protecting and honoring him as a student. It’s one of my funniest memories.
How about you, Alli? You’ve spent years in K–12 education: What’s a funny moment that still stands out?
Frank: I spent most of my career in high schools, and the teenage brain never fails to baffle. I could tell you a billion different stories, but one always comes to mind—about a student I’ll call Lachlan. We were in my U.S. history class, deep in what I thought was a very stimulating Socratic seminar around a Harkness roundtable on the Bill of Rights.
Youmans: Oh, it sounds so very serious already.
Frank: So very serious. To be fair, I was a young teacher, and I probably took both teaching—and teaching U.S. history—far too seriously. It was a very warm California afternoon, and in the middle of our discussion, Lachlan tipped his chair back, reached into his backpack, pulled out a stick of deodorant, lifted his T-shirt, and started applying it. I just stared at him and all I could do was ask, “Why? Why now?” He looked at me, completely earnest, and said, “Because I stink.” In that moment, his teenage brain was crystal clear: Whatever feels most urgent is what needs attention.
The next day, to make the point that personal care doesn’t belong in the classroom, I waited until everyone was seated, hopped onto my stool at the front of the room, rolled up my pant leg, and pulled out a razor and bucket of water. The class was horrified. “Ms. Frank, gross, what are you doing?” I said, “Oh, I shouldn’t shave my legs in the classroom? You don’t want to see that?” We all burst out laughing, no one harder than Lachlan. Lesson learned. Personal grooming: not in the classroom.
Youmans: Speaking of the seriousness of schools, do you remember working together on the admissions team? How much we would laugh and decompress in my classroom after days packed with visits, using humor to make sense of what we’d just experienced.
Frank: You know what I find interesting about that, Asha? It felt like we had to remove ourselves from the admissions committee and go into your classroom to laugh about what went down during the day. For some reason, finding humor in these kids and their families felt like something to hide. Why do you think it felt naughty or not acceptable to laugh about that?
Youmans: I think education has been long treated as a very serious endeavor. School was often in the same room as your church. There was an expectation of professionalism, and laughter was not part of that. But I think education is evolving to allow more emotion in the classroom. I used humor in my own classroom at very important moments to relieve tension. If a student made a misstep, humor helped shift attention away from them and back to me. It wasn’t just about making kids laugh; it was a way to manage my classroom and help students refocus.
Frank: You bring up a good point that aligns with plenty of research. We often assume that empathy is built by leaning into struggles, challenges, and difficulties of those around us. But as we both experienced as educators, humor can be an incredibly effective entry point for building empathy and starting conversations about hard topics like race, religion, privilege, you name it.
Early in my teaching career, I had students read books about South Africa that happened to be my favorite books: Cry, the Beloved Country; Kaffir Boy: The True Story of a Black Youth’s Coming of Age in Apartheid South Africa; The Power of One. They moved me when I was young and as an adult. I assumed they would move my students, too. But sometimes it takes a mountain to move a teenager. However, then I had my students read Trevor Noah’s Born a Crime: Stories From a South African Childhood. It was by far the best text I have ever used with students. It captured them because they could feel the pain of Noah’s story through the humor he used to tell it. It was so fun to teach.
Youmans: In our writing together, we explore those same things that seem very difficult to laugh at: race, privilege, religion, intersectional cultures and identities. We use humor to explore all those things.
Frank: Yes, because we want to bring lightness and joy to people through our writing about these challenging topics. In a way, we use our books to show readers that education can be humorous, joyous, and fun. But there’s also a bit of a wink-wink, nudge-nudge to our fellow educators, right? Elevate humor in your classroom, in your school. Tell the funny human stories that are happening in schools, not just the heartbreaking, hard ones. How do you encourage teachers and educators to hold on to that joy and to lean into humor?
Youmans: I think about that one student who might sit in the back of the classroom with a grumpy look on their face, maybe not participating as much as you know they could, but who keeps showing up for a reason. It could just be because you brought a smile to them on that day. I don’t think you have to do slapstick humor or knock-knock jokes all day. But finding reasons to smile in your classroom could be why one student is showing up every day.
Frank: I love that. Helping a student find a reason to smile. Smiling is the first step to giggling. Giggling is the first step to a full guffaw. And that full guffaw is when you are in a relationship with someone.
Youmans: My dad was a longtime educator, and I learned at his elbow. He could make someone smile, and I saw how that immediately relaxed their body, allowed them to lean into whatever message he had. It’s very difficult to have contention, anger, or disagreement when there’s a smile on your face. When there’s a smile on your face, that is a moment for cooperation, encouragement, and for letting that person know that I’m here for you too. You’ve got to connect with students to start teaching them, and a smile is a beautiful way to do it.
Frank: I hope that educators can find a little more joy and levity in what they do. Find a fellow educator who you know you can laugh with. Then bring that laughter and that lightness to the whole of your educator community: into staff meetings, into faculty meetings, into the lunchroom. Be the first to smile, like you said. Be the first to laugh. Be the first to share a story, and others will follow.
Want More?
You know the moments—the ones that make you laugh, cringe, and nod in recognition. Check out Alli Frank and Asha Youmans’s novels:
Tiny Imperfections (2020)
Never Meant to Meet You (2022)
The Better Half (2023)
Boss Lady (2024)
Run for Your Life, Callie Kingman (2025)
Very Funny
Schools are serious places. But they’re also full of joy, humor, and perfectly human moments. Inspired by Alli Frank and Asha Youmans’s conversation on humor in education, we want to capture the moments that make you laugh out loud, smile in recognition, or remember why you love this work. Share your funny classroom, admissions, faculty meeting, or “only in independent schools” stories on social media using #TheConversationNAIS.