Laugh 'Til It Hurts... Unless It *Already* Hurts to Laugh...

On Father's Day, I want to recognize the man who is ultimately responsible for this blog.

My father.

Not because it was his idea. He didn't even know what a "blog" was until I started one.

Not because he's a regular reader. Although I do think he does glance at it occasionally.

No. My father is responsible for this blog because I *totally* inherited my sense of humour from him. All of it. From the funny stories, to the bad jokes, the good jokes, to the jokes that I know will get me in trouble but I just can't resist anyway.

And he's good for my health too. Because I *never* laugh harder than when my Dad and I get going.

Except once:

Back when I was ten years old, I had my appendix taken out. When I returned home from the hospital, there were stitches in my abdomen from the surgery that were pretty sore. When my dad started joking to cheer me up, I discovered that it hurt to laugh. So I'd laugh, then I'd cry. He tried to stop saying anything funny, but I couldn't stop laughing. No matter *what* he said, it would make me laugh. And then cry. Even seeing him trying *not* to be funny would make me laugh. So I think my mother eventually had to send him out of the room.

So there you go. It's not so good to be "in stitches" when you're *actually* in stitches.

And Happy Father's Day, Dad.