This article was published in Reader's digest on june 2008. My reading of this article cannot be more perfectly timed as my dad just started giving one of his dad's jokes ('Since it is a Pass-enger train, i think you should have pass-ed atleast your high school.' Hmpf!) while we are on a train to tirupathy.
Groan Ups!
It was a look of horror. It was a look of pain. My son's eyes were crinkled, his mouth held tight. Then he spoke: "Don't you ever say that again."
But I must say it again. It is my job.
We were watching the TV show prison break, in which one of the characters was called Fibonacci. I had vaguely remembered something in maths called Fibonacci number. Hence, every time the character was mentioned, I would mutter: "That Fibonacci-those guys really have got his number."
In an episode of prison break I could make the joke perhaps 15 to 20 times. By the fourth advertising break, my son was ready to kill me.
It was, of course, a Dad joke. Dad jokes are special form of humor. They are marked by two distinctive features. They are a) not funny in the first place, and b) increasingly less funny after endless repetition.
I have heard that a new generation of fathers is not shouldering its responsibility in relation to the dad joke. Only last week, a young family hopped into a car, ready to drive down a valley. You will, I'm sure be as shocked as I was to learn that the young father failed to make observation, "It won't take long-it's all downhill from here."
Another shattered child tells the story of driving with her father past a cemetery in a country town. In vain did she wait for him to make the remark: "Look at that, kids, it's the dead centre of the town-people are dying to get in there."
Such shocking case studies are one reason the government is establishing Dad joke training centers, helping young fathers who can't get their Dad jokes flowing.
Says one counselor, "Young children naturally look up to their fathers and see them as a font of wisdom and authority. The dad joke is an important part of the process of separation, whereby the child realizes that the father is a real person, with flaws and imperfections."
Visiting one of the training centers recently, I could see the hard work involved. A group of young fathers stood in a semicircle being instructed by Doug, a grandfather who has been perfecting Dad jokes since the 1960's.
"Let's say you're at home, and your little fella catches you talking o yourself," said Doug. He'll say, 'Dad, you're talking to yourself again.' So what do you say back?"
The young men looked baffled. "Maybe just explain about the pressure I'm under at work?" said one young father.
Doug seemed to groan inwardly. "He doesn't need to know all about that," he chided. "All you need says is, 'it's the only way I can get a decent conversation around here.' Then you grin at him as if it's the funniest line in the world."
Doug then handed out dummy Christmas presents-each one a wrapped bottle of wine. It took a while, but by the end of the afternoon each dad was shaking it up to his ear, then declaring: "I know! It's a book!"
"Remember," said Doug, "It's all in the repetition. The book gag should be performed every single birthday and Christmas until the child is at least 50. If it really is a book, by the way, shake it and say, 'I know! It's a bottle of wine!'"
Next, he sat the men around a dining table, placing a huge slab of roast beef in the middle. Soon, he had the men chorusing as one: "Ah, here's my dinner-I just don't know what the rest of you plan to eat."
Back at home, Prison break was on again. I rolled out my Fibonacci joke, only to find it was losing its power.
I tried a new tack: “Can you turn up the TV?"
My son turned to me: "You deaf or something?"
"Eh?" I answer.
Oh yes! Oh yes! I had guided the young man into my trap, then sprung it shut. Again a pained look. Again, the eventual comment: "Don't you ever say that again."
Slowly, with great effort, I'm bringing the young fella around the idea that his father is not perfect. It's tough of course, but from the look on his face he may finally have my number.
Some samples:
When driving past a cemetery, 'You know, that is the dead centre of town!'
When squeezing past in the hallway and saying "excuse me please" - the reply from Dad will be to lock you in a bear hug and shout "I thought you said SQUEEZE ME".
When asking to pass the pepper or salt, Dad will move as though to pass it, then continue his arm in a circle, returning the aforementioned condiment to its original resting place. So the salt has gone past you.
