Dad jokes!

Our ageing is full of cameos of the past, which we can still fondly recall. One example of this for my sisters and I are Dad Jokes. At any time of the year, our beloved father would walk by, singing his funnier versions of songs, or telling us jokes.  His favourite rendition was “While shepherds washed their socks by night…feet firmly planted on the ground…” Girlish giggles soon followed. We can indulge in reminiscing about Dad’s funny imagination.

Yes, it was only washing after all. I, too, grew up with a good imagination. As I fold up another load of washing, I can visualise washing lines of socks on display all those years ago in Bethlehem, socks flapping in the desert night air. Meanwhile, under these southern skies here in Oz, I can wonder if the shepherds also washed and dried their jocks, or if that might be too much information.

In my equally good imagination, I can still fantasise about some half shadowy world where missing socks that disappeared in the washing over my past have ended their socky days. Are the missing socks in some mystical land, sniggering as women seek that pesky lost sock?

On Saturdays, long ago, my Dad would load up his three fat bossy females, and our mother. He took us on scenic drives around local rustic settings, through forests and hills. Bouncing around with no seat belts, we laughed as Dad serenaded us all. “We’ll be driving round the mountains, here we come, We’ll be wearing pink pyjamas when we come….”

Some days, when we were all at home on the weekend, one of us might say, “I’m hungry.” Dad’s instant quip was, “Hello, hungry. I’m Dad. Eat an apple.” So we all ate many apples. If anyone complained, “I’m bored!” We knew Dad would smile, “Hello, bored. I’ll take you to the library.” We all loved that, we were growing bookworms, still are.

At the library, some greying librarian would endow me with a book about the royal family. We are still the colonials. This kind person would tell me I could grow up one day, and marry Prince Charles, to become queen of pony clubs of the United Kingdom. Dad’s response, You’ll only have babies with big ears.” Smiling still, I remain a firm fan of librarians.

A couple of years later, my sisters and I were creating puddles, running under the sprinkler in the backyard. It rated as not having a beach. Dad appeared from drinking another hot cup of tea, and said, “Harold Holt is missing!” We all burst into laughter, we were used to our Dad’s jokes by now. “Dad, that’s not funny!”

Hello there, now all these many years later, Harold Holt is still missing. Still not funny. His widow quite some time ago had the probate sorted, his estate settled, and accessed his superannuation. Widows have to be sensible at any age. Yes, Australia woke up, having misplaced a Prime Minister. The electorate had to turn the page and get another Prime Minister.

Harold Holt had gone for a swim. On hot, sweltering afternoons, my parents would take us for swim in the nearby river. “Swim across the river, not down. Don’t come back if you drown.” Dad, looking hot in his shorts and shirt, shoes and socks, went to sleep for a rest. We laughed, we knew our Dad could not swim. So we did not drown.

At home, my grandfather visited at this stage in history, and said, “Not missing Harold Holt at all. We must stay loyal to the Labour Party.” Some ripe language ensued, so my Dad immediately sang, “Thanks, Bog Irish, for teaching us how to swear, the great Prime Minister is still somewhere over there…”

In this nostalgic reminiscences, my sisters and I can still smile. Dad would always welcome the New Year by saying, “I hope I can see Christmas this year.” He eventually made sure he passed away on Boxing Day, a memorable influence on our family tree. Have you got any good Dad jokes, from cameos of the boomer past? Jokes that shall never grow old……