My First Pun

Puns have been a part of my life forever.  There is a peculiar twist to my relationship with puns, however.  I don’t like to tell puns that others have invented.  I feel there is no pleasure in this.  I’ll only tell puns I’ve created.

This is not to say that I don’t enjoy the puns of others.  I really do.  I even envy the person who created some of them.  Some puns invented by others are so outrageously funny, I smile whenever I think of them.

I can think of only a few puns, perhaps five or six of my own, among many hundreds that I feel are the equivalent of the funny ones of others.

My enjoyment of puns began as a child living at home with my parents.  I was perhaps eight ears old when I told my first.  It was in Italian.  In the household we spoke only Italian.

My father was scolding me one day for something I had done wrong.  I don’t remember what it was but I was protesting my innocence.  My father put his fingers to his lips and shouted, “Mosca.”  This word meant silence.

I was aware that this word, in Italian, also meant house fly.  Something got into me and I couldn’t resist it.  I looked around the room, left, right, up, down, then, with perfect timing, asked:

“Ado?”  This word, in Italian, meant where?

My father was not into puns.  I cannot tell you about his reaction.  It is not a pleasant thing to recall.

This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply