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Times have changed but Pop hasn't

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By Dick Frank

Father’s Day is Sunday. Almost 100 years have elapsed since the first father’s Day was celebrated. In the early 1900s fathers didn’t have it nearly as good as fathers of today; but they did have a few advantages.

Back then, if a father put a roof over his family’s head, he was a success. Today, it takes a roof, deck, pool, and three-car garage.

Back then, fathers could count on children to join the family business. Today fathers hope their kids will soon come home from college long enough to teach them how to work the computer and set the VCR.

Back then, fathers hoped their children would learn English. Today, fathers wish their children would speak English.

Back then, a father waited for the doctor to tell him when the baby arrived. Today, a father must wear a smock, know how to breathe, and make sure the video camera is loaded.

Back then, a father came home from work to find his wife and children at the supper table. Today a father comes home to a note: “Jimmy’s at baseball, Cindy’s at gymnastics, I’m at adult-ed, pizza in the fridge.”

Pitch in, Father

A clergyman on a walk saw a young farmer struggling to load hay back onto a cart after it had fallen off. “You look hot, my son,” said the cleric, “why don’t you rest a moment and I’ll give you a hand.”

“No thanks,” said the young man, “my father wouldn’t like it.”

“Don’t be silly,” the minister said.

“Everyone is entitled to a break. Come and have a drink of water.”

Again the young man protested that his father would be upset.

Losing his patience, the clergyman said, “Your father must be a real slave driver. Tell me where I can find him and I’ll give him a piece of my mind!”

“Well,” replied the young farmer, “he’s under the load of hay.”

Dad’s Math

Dad was completely lost in the kitchen and never ate unless someone prepared a meal for him. When Mother was ill, however, he volunteered to go to the supermarket for her.

She sent him off with a carefully numbered list of seven items. Dad returned shortly, very proud of himself, and proceeded to unpack the grocery bags.

He had one bag of sugar, two dozen eggs, three hams, four boxes of detergent, five boxes of crackers, six eggplants, and seven green peppers.

Pop Corn

Life was a lot simpler when what we honored was father rather than all major credit cards.

Dad thinks he wears the trousers in our house, but it’s always mum who tells him which pair to put on!

One time my kids wanted to surprise me with a good breakfast in bed on Father’s Day. They put a cot in the kitchen.

Big, Bad Dad

Recently during a violent thunderstorm a mother was tucking her small boy into bed. She was about to turn off the light when he asked with a tremor in his voice, “Mommy, will you sleep with me tonight?”

The mother smiled and gave him a reassuring hug. “I can’t dear,” she said. “I have to sleep in Daddy’s room.”

A long silence was broken at last by his shaking little voice, “He’s a big sissy.”

Delegated Authority

One evening, while sitting around the dinner table, a little girl looked up and asked her father, “Daddy, you’re the boss, right?”

Her father was very pleased by this and replied, “Yes.”

Then, the little girl continued, “That’s because mommy put you in charge, right?”

Dad’s Revenge

Martin had just received his brand new driver’s license. The family trooped out to the driveway and climbed in the car, where he was going to take them for a ride for the first time. Dad immediately headed for the back seat, directly behind the newly-minted driver.

“I’ll bet you’re back there to get a change of scenery after all those months of sitting in the front seat teaching me how to drive,” said the beaming boy to his father.

“Nope,” dad replied, “I’m gonna sit here and kick the back of your seat as you drive, just like you’ve been doing all these years.”

We may have kicked when our kids were going through those difficult teen years. As they matured and became successful, we have nothing to kick about. Dick and his wife, Jane, live in Oak Run. Send your jokes and puns to dickjfrank@yahoo.com or via snail mail to the Citizen.