I like to think that I was a funny kid. I was voted class clown throughout my career in academia. I took a stool, albeit briefly, in stand-up. I used humor to deflect and address all other emotions. I was funny. My parents must have spent the majority of their time in the proverbial stitches.

Enter my children. At the young ages of seven and four, respectively, they have already started to reap the accolades of class clownery.

This is where I would like to take a moment to apologize to my parents.

The biggest issue with my boys is that there isn’t an “off” switch. That isn’t to say that their jokes are always on, rather, they just don’t stop. Kind of like Robin Williams.

They’ve got knock-knock jokes, gags that involve the pulling of fingers, well-timed movie quotes, the countless wiener references and, of course, their bread and butter, the observational humor. Loud, often inappropriate observational humor. You know, the good stuff.

I don’t know where they get it.