For someone who didn’t talk much as a child, my son J certainly grew to love his puns. Classified for years as “non-verbal”, we struggled against all odds and used any means necessary to get my boy to talk. Maybe, just maybe, we tried too hard.
It takes absolutely nothing to set him off. Don’t mention trees around him – you’ll get the “maybe I should leaf this one alone?” Or “She’s barking up the wrong tree.” We passed a broken sign this morning and he points out that “it’s a sign of the times.” The pause and inflection – yes, you know it well – is the mark of a truly awful pun and his delivery is always spot on.
My daughter’s drawing of a pink and purple unicorn brought out the “well, there’s a horse of a different color.” Adjusting a loose light bulb until it turned back on spurred the “Well, I hate to make light of the situation…” He also can’t manage to stop at only one groaner per situation. Often, it’s three or four before we tell him to stop before he hurts himself, and even then we might have to endure another one or two, complete with the sideways grin and the face that says “Eh? Eh? EH? Ya get it, right???”
His “Well, I guess…” in that tone of voice has become the ultimate signal for “yes, we’re about to get nailed with as many puns as he can come up with” and I’ll be the first to admit – I don’t mind a bit. Speaking only six words by age three followed by years of speech therapy and a constant upward battle of non-verbal communication, I’ll take his jokes and puns any day.
Every torrent of puns that floods forth is a victory for him, even though he doesn’t see it that way. He’s being verbally playful and I’m smiling. We won, one silly pun at a time and I wouldn’t trade it for the world…