The Joke Man

Living with my father has never been easy.

When it came to communicating, he went by the 90's motto: Don't Ask/Don't Tell. He didn't ask me anything, so I didn't tell him anything. He was of the belief that children (especially his) should be seen, not heard. And, preferably, not even seen. It was enough for him to know we were around.

It was a different time. Let's leave it at that.

And then my parents grew old, my mother passed away, and my father was diagnosed pre-Alzheimer's. When my family and I asked him to move in with us, I thought maybe things would be different. They weren't. His first words when I tried to engage him in conversation were practically, "Don't bother."

Not too long ago, I walked into the den and sat down. Not in my favorite chair, because my father claimed it the day he moved into my house, but in the sofa next to it. He was watching baseball on the MLB channel we got him. Sometimes I'll watch baseball, too. Usually when I'm in the mood for a nap. He didn't seem interested in conversation, so I pulled out my phone and went to @JackieMartling. It's the X, formerly Twitter, account of Jackie "The Joke Man" Martling.

That's where something caught my eye.

"Hey, dad," I said, "did you hear about the cannibal's son?"

My father reluctantly turned my way.

"The cannibal's son?" he repeated, probably wondering if I was nuts.

"Yeah, he got kicked out of school for buttering up the teacher."

My father let out a chuckle.

"That's a good one," he said. "Now let me finish watching the game." Only he didn't say that last part. What he said was, "Tell me another one."

That caught me by surprise, so I quickly looked for another joke I could tell him.

"How is marriage like a hot bath?"

"How?" 

"Once you get used to it, it ain't so hot."

My father chuckled again. Heck, this time he outright laughed. Since I had his attention, I thought I'd push my luck.

"What does it mean when a tombstone reads: 'Here lies a lawyer and an honest man'?" 

"What?" 

"It means they buried two people in the same grave."

Chuckling, my father told me, "You're a pretty funny guy."

Now, how did I manage to squeeze such an unexpected compliment out of my father? Is it because I'm a natural-born comedian? Is it because I keep my funnybone where my backbone should be? No, I couldn't tell a joke to save my ex-wife's life, even if I wanted to, but I can read, and I can listen. Although, if you were to ask that very same ex-wife, she'd tell you otherwise. About my listening, I mean. Toward the end of our marriage, her conversations with me usually began, "You haven't heard a word I've said, have you?"

No, I'm not a joke teller, but Jackie Martling is. Not only that, but he's a mighty fine actor, too. If you've seen him in Elias Plagianos' award-winning TV show "Shoot Me Nicely," then you know what I mean. And if you've listened to any one of his comedy CDs, then you've probably busted a gut laughing. I know I have.

Before I retired, when I was at work pretending to be productive on my computer, I was often at his website instead because I'm a sucker for a good joke. I'm also lazy. I'm so lazy I stick my face out the window and let the wind blow my nose. That's why I got on his mailing list, where every month he sends out an email stuffed with jokes. It was easy to get on. I just sent him an email at jokeland@aol.com. That's right, AOL. It's right there, next to the dodo bird. Best of all, it's free, and free just happens to be my favorite price-point.

Why are you looking at me that way? What do you want me to do, pay for my entertainment? Don't make me laugh. Jackie's already got that covered. 

Besides being lazy, I'm cheap. I'm so cheap, I go to Kentucky Fried Chicken and lick other people's fingers.

When Jackie came out with his autobiography ("The Joke Man: Bow To Stern") I couldn't wait to get my hands on a copy. I don't usually pre-order books because, like I've already told you, I'm cheap, but I did just that, because I saw the book as a good investment in building a relationship with my father.

Just today, I walked into the den (I guess I do a lot of walking into the den), and, as always, my father was watching baseball. Personally, I'm not into baseball. There might be someone with even less interest in baseball than me. If there is, I haven't met him. I sat down in my usual spot.

"Hey, son," my father said before I could pull out my phone.

"Yeah, dad?" I answered, thinking he was going to tell me I was being quiet too loudly.

"Why do gorillas have such big nostrils?"

"I don't know. Why?"

"Because their fingers are HUGE."

He laughed. 

So did I.

"Good one, dad," I said.

And it was.