It’s not often that one of my kids lays down some adolescent humor on the home front that I hadn’t already heard 30 years ago, when I was their age. Generally such attempts weren’t particularly funny when I was in junior high school, and are even less so now. Unlike cheese, lousy humor doesn’t age well.
So this last week one of my kids asked me, “What’s red, and not there?”
“I give up. What’s red, and not there?”
I think that’s hilarious. Still wondering just why but it makes me smile.
This rare score by my youngsters brought to mind one of my favorite childhood memories. I was in junior high school, and had just stumbled on the greatest joke of all time, which I needed to share immediately with my dad.
“An airplane crashes on the border between the U.S. and Canada. Where do they bury the survivors?”
My dad looked at me, completely serious, and said, “There were no survivors.”