What's the right thing to do with yourself tomorrow? The right way to observe the day? To honor the victims and pay your respects to the survivors?

The question's been in the back of my mind for a month or so, but it really hit me last week, when I was taking a walk with my children and saw a flyer advertising a toddler music class I'd been considering. Trial classes were being offered, and one was being held tomorrow.

Sept. 11.

The Sept. 11 class was the only one that would work with my schedule, but I wondered - as I mediated a dispute over a toy cement mixer between my sons - is a cheerful sing-along an OK thing to do on such a sad anniversary?

I recalled last spring's music class, and remembered how happy the kids were clapping and singing the ``Hello Everybody,'' song that always kicks off the session, and how cute the kids looked running up to hug a squirrel puppet the teacher was holding.

``Twinkle, Twinkle'' I decided, would be the perfect way to mark the day.

But what else should I do? The class, after all, is only 45 minutes long.

Is it OK to throw myself into my work, when my work often involves getting upset in a jokey way about life's trivialities? Would eating a frozen yogurt seem disrespectful? Would not watching any of the 9/11 coverage?

``I rented `Something About Mary' to watch on Wednesday night,'' a friend confided. ``I feel selfish - but I just can't take 9/11 stuff anymore.''

She rented the video over the weekend ``so no one would suspect anything,'' and plans to hit ``mute'' if anyone calls.

Another friend plans to watch TV, perhaps to make up for going to the gym.

``If I let myself go,'' she joked, ``then the terrorists have won.''

We laughed, and then felt bad for doing so, and then felt bad for feeling bad, since as a nation we'd gotten permission to laugh last year, from no less an authority than the New York-based ``Saturday Night Live,'' a mere three weeks after the attacks.

I don't know if you saw the first post-Sept. 11 show, which was opened by then-New York Mayor Rudolph Giuliani. He stood on stage surrounded by uniformed police officers and firefighters and said, ``We will not yield to terrorism. We will not let our decisions be made out of fear.''

Then Paul Simon sang ``The Boxer,'' and afterwards, SNL producer Lorne Michaels addressed the mayor. ``Can we be funny?'' Michaels asked.

Giuliani's face went deadpan. ``Why start now?''

He was making fun of SNL, of course, but the real answer to ``Can we be funny?'' is ``Yes!'' What we can't do, it turns out, is stop being funny!

Because, as we've learned, we need humor. As Ogden Nash said in a talk at his granddaughter's commencement, ``Among other things, (humor) is a shield, a weapon, a survival kit. So here we are, several million of us crowded into our global concentration camp for the duration. How are we to survive? Solemnity is not the answer any more than witless and irresponsible frivolousness. I think our best chance, a good chance, lies in humor, which in this case means a wry acceptance of our predicament.''

Nash gave that talk in 1970, more than 30 years ago. So where does that leave us today?

Sad, but still able to laugh.