Let me shed some light (on bad puns)
I’ve noticed a horrifying trend in my life: the older I get, the more I use puns in everyday conversation. This worries me. If it were just a fad, a short-lived obsession that ends nearly as quickly as it began, I wouldn’t worry. The fact that, over the last few years, this fad has grown into a full-blown trend has made me think I might become a stereotypical “Dad.”
The title of this photo, taken from the upper level walkway between the W.A.C. Bennett Library and the West Mall at SFU looking toward Burnaby, is just a minor indication of the problem. A symptom, as it were. I’ve begun making the same jokes my father does. If there’s an obvious pun, I have to use it. No, I need to say it. I used to think it was just my overflowing wit, a cleverness that could not be contained.
Now that I think about it, it began when my daughter was born and worsened after my son was born. Is it a condition that all fathers suffer from? Is it the universe’s way of making sure that all fathers embarrass their kids whenever they can?
Is there a cure?