The family that puns together stays together

I have my mother’s eyes, but my father’s sense of humour. While I’ve inherited many genetic traits from the paternal side of my family, the one I treasure most is the ability to make puns. It has given me my voice and endless laughter, and for that, I am forever grateful.

Some people think puns are cringey, but to me, this form of wordplay is masterful. Puns are more than knock-knock jokes. They’re clever uses of language, formed spontaneously and shared unabashedly with the right audience.

These types of clever retorts seem to favour the male side of my family. My grandfather, while learning English, had a repertoire of puns and cliches that he rotated regularly — every time he drank a sip of something, he’d pause, sigh and then say, “Good to the last drop,” a once-popular advertisement for Maxwell Coffee. My father, who is 92, still makes puns constantly, and even my brother has dabbled in them. But I am the biggest offender and with the right crowd can make them nonstop, like a rap battle among punsters.

My roommate recalls my father and me bringing my mattress to our apartment in the Cobble Hill section of Brooklyn. To lighten the load, I placed the mattress on top of my head and walked it into the room. My dad looked at me and, without flinching, said, “Now, that’s using your head.” She still giggles from that one. Sometimes my brother steals my puns, which should be the greatest form of flattery.

Puns are more than wordplay; they actually gave me a voice. In middle school, I got my first French horn and named it Goldie Horn, so I guess I started early. As I became more comfortable with myself, my quips started to increase. In high school, among certain friends, my jokes emerged with greater force. I’m certain this type of quick wit won me over with the popular kids. Go figure.

In fact, my high school yearbook is filled with kind words, a few sarcastic one-liners and a plethora of “I will miss the puns.” What is considered corny in some circles is masterful in others. Find the latter group, you won’t be sorry.

While my use of wordplay is vast, there’s one that stands out. I was working as a production assistant for a TV pilot, and the assistant director thought I had potential and was considering making me his second, i.e., his second assistant director. He liked my quick wit and Brooklyn accent, but I had little experience, so I was trying to impress him. I mentioned that I was a master punster, but how could I prove it?

A bunch of us were sitting around waiting for lighting when I met a man named Paul, who was the actual second, and then John entered the room. I got a huge grin on my face and offered to make an introduction: “This is John, Paul, the second.” Mic dropped. Laughter ensued. Victory. They even asked me back for another shoot. Puns, like most things, are better in person. They’re proof that you are present and listening and that you can use your mind and knowledge in an instant. It’s a skill, like golf or music: precision and timing are everything, as with life. The speed at which you need to form and disseminate puns rivals that of a race car driver. Puns are woven into my everyday life.

I’m not alone in my love of this wordplay. There are actual pun-offs held annually in Austin, Texas, where people compete. It’s impressive but not the same as the joy of crafting a perfect retort on the spot. As for my dad, he and I still go at it. He’s 92 and sharp as cheddar. And our wordplay is without a doubt my favourite thing we share. So go ahead and give it a try. You might just find a new connection — something we could all use more of these days.