My son: The comedian


My son likes to be funny. Nothing wrong with that, right? Well, kinda sorta. Unfortunately, his disability manifests itself through language. This means most of his jokes go something like this:

“Why did the chicken cross the road?”
“Mom, that was a funny pun. Why aren’t you laughing?”

This was pretty funny stuff when he was five, eight, even ten years old. It can be funny now that he’s eighteen but is very often horrifyingly awkward instead. I cite the following example from recent days:

Son emerges from the pantry carrying a box of tea, “Hey Mom, I guess I tea bagged you!” followed by gales of laughter.

While I did not define the term for him, I did tell him that not only was it not funny, but that it was extremely rude and he was never to say it again. I did ask where he heard it, which was stupid as I know from experience this is a fruitless endeavor. He apologized,  though it was obvious he couldn’t understand why it was such a bad thing to say.

Ah, the joys of motherhood.


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