My Kids Refuse to Say the Cutest Things

Kids are funny. Some kids. Mine on the other hand… Let's just say that nobody over here is going to be pulling down a slot on Last Comic Standing any time soon.

Try as I might, I just can't get my kids to say the cutest things.

Here's an example. We go over my mom's house. Do the kids say (as they've been instructed), "Why does grandma have cotton candy on her head?" No, they sure don't. Neither do they use the material about her ribbon candy or the bit where they come out of the bathroom with the Preparation H saying, "Grandma's toothpaste tastes funny!"

What I'm saying is, there's funny and then there's my kids. Or to express it in mathematical terms:

MY KIDS  <  FUNNY

Sure, the material may be lacking. I'll own that. But I only started writing because their stuff was, as the French say, gar-bage. And it's not like I was looking for Evening at the Improv: Toddler Edition, but I wasn't even getting Family Circus-level shit from this crew. A kid can't say, "I caughted a snowflake, but now I can't find it," every once in a while? This is too much for a father to ask?

I guess I just thought going in that the whole "kid" thing would produce more chuckles than it has. Looks like the (lack of) joke is on me.

Even as I write this, there they are … mouths open, expressions blank ... JEEPERS CROW, YOU CAN'T SQUEEZE OUT A SINGLE KNOCK-KNOCK JOKE BETWEEN THE TWO OF YOU?

Maybe I'm being unfair.

Or maybe these jabronies just need to nut up and start bringing the funny.

EPILOGUE

Both kids grow up to be exceptionally skilled comedians who routinely mine their painful childhood for comic gold. Neither maintains contact with their father.

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