MY father has a sense of humour sharper than a serpent's switchblade.
An English professor, he delights in the play of language and clever turns of phrase. He's even gone so far as to create his own college course on satire, teaching impressionable young minds about the brilliance of Alexander Pope, Jonathan Swift, Dave Barry and Milhouse Van Houten. He can succinctly dissect the subversive yet hilarious way in which Mel Brooks takes on racism in America in Blazing Saddles. But he also loves the scene from that same movie in which all the villainous cowboys share a pot of baked beans around the campfire, finally enraging their evil leader with their assault on two of his senses.
Yes, humourists like Stephen Leacock and Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. may have been able to expose the best and worst in all of us but, as all good fathers must know, nothing beats a good fart joke.
There's a small prairie town called Bawlf near where I grew up and when we would pass through it my father would often tell a favourite joke: "A man gets into a taxi and blurts out, 'I'm going to Bawlf!' The driver slams on the brakes, turns around and says 'Not in my taxi, you won't.'"
Now that's a classic dad joke.
I've recently become a father myself and I've fully embraced my role as the teller of terrible, punny jokes. My little guy is just learning his first thousand words, but I've made sure three of them are poo, poop and bum. I really have no choice - it is my fatherly doodie. Sorry.
Another fatherly, erm, duty is to give sage advice. This is the first of what will be a regular column for me and I'd like to offer a warning: Words in these columns may form themselves into shapes that look like advice but - even though I've so far managed to keep my son from appearing on a reality TV show or participating in a hockey riot - it should all be taken with a grain of salt. Maybe even a dump truck of salt. My son, after all, is only 18 months old. If you want sound child-rearing advice read our wonderful parenting columnist Kathy Lynn. If you want to know what babyfriendly foods go well with an India pale ale, maybe give me a try.
In fact, my one piece of parenting advice is to watch out for all that advice flying at you - some of it might help you but most of it will end up getting stuck in your hair. All of the parenting books that my wife and I read told us to allow our kid to eat as much as he wanted as long as it was healthy food. He would know when to stop. Up until that time we'd always cut him off after what we thought was a very generous portion, but one morning for breakfast we let him go wild. So he had a cute little baby bowl of oatmeal. Then some Cheerios. Then a banana. Then more Cheerios. Then some blueberries. Then more Cheerios. Then yogurt. Then he barfed. Then he laughed and asked for more Cheerios. We've since re-engaged the cutoff switch.
The North Shore News is full of engaging information but many of the usual stories - the dog-walking bylaws, the zoning amendments, the hatchet murders - don't directly relate to my personal life. As a new dad, however, some headlines really grab me. Last week there was a story about how daycare operators in the City of North Vancouver were struggling to find affordable locations for their places of business. "Hey," I thought, "I have a child and I live in that city." This is bad news, I decided.
Fortunately, my wife has chosen to work from home at least until our little guy is old enough for preschool.
But the high cost of daycare certainly went into that decision. We also now must figure out how to find a nice place to live while making one honest wage when it takes eight honest wages to afford a house on the North Shore. Maybe it's time to start picking up a couple of dishonest wages. Loan shark? I'm not great with a baseball bat. Bootlegging? I drive a 109-horsepower hatchback. Arms dealer? I don't think I have the storage space and, even if I did, it would probably violate my tenancy agreement. I won't be the one to solve the North Shore's daycare crisis but I'm happy to bring it up, along with other issues facing youngish adults, in the hopes that some other clever people will have a go. In the meantime I think I'll get my baby's future children on a daycare waitlist now in case anything opens up for the class of 2040-41.
For those of you who turned the page at the mention of the word children but, inexplicably, came back later to grudgingly finish reading the column I say: Fear not - it won't be all "Goo-goo, ga-ga, poo-poo, Daddy, how can I avoid going to community college?"
I'll also spend time discussing things like my first true loves: sports, television and beer. On really special occasions - Thursdays, for instance - all three of those things combined. I hope you've surmised that I don't take myself too seriously. However if I get altogether too silly please feel free to let me know - just email and tell me that if you read one more terrible dad joke you're going to Bawlf.
North Shore News sports editor Andy Prest is a longtime listener, first-time dad. He will be writing in this spot on a monthly basis. Email him at [email protected] or check out his Twitter account @Sports_ Andy.
