I like to think my sharp wit and keen insights are a gift from on high, a token of favor from the powers that be. Unfortunately, my penchant for the written word is not a talent from within, but instead, a trait I inherited from my father. I acknowledge that he is an excellent writer, despite our frequent disagreements. Often, I bask in his brilliance and quietly wonder when he’ll GIVE IT A REST ALREADY! 

I dreaded telling him that I was working the Humor Section of The Whitman Wire, not because he finds the Humor section to be “inauthentic journalism,” but because he believes himself supremely funny; he’s so convinced of this fact that I receive emails every time The Whitman Wire gets published, saying “AJ, I found the ‘Ye Olde South Dakota’ article to be trite. I’ve attached several jokes you can incorporate next time to maximize audience enjoyment.” According to him, there’s only so many times I can make the “Freshman Discovers [BLANK]” joke until it gets stale. But he hasn’t even seen my “Freshman Discovers Family Therapy” rough draft yet!

I called my dad and told him I’d be writing this article to reveal his antics to the world. He paused, then said, “at least you’re writing about the funniest topic you know!” He drives me crazy, and worst of all, he usually knows what he’s talking about. My dad’s a writer with several published articles under his belt, a podcast (which he did before it was cool), and above all else, a desire to see me succeed. I tried to make this piece more scathing, I really did… but then I think of him taking the time to read my work and proudly showing it to the people from back home, and the meanness just deflates out of me. So, dad, if you’re reading this… you win. I’ll finally write about “Greatness Over Forty: Conquering the World with a Bad Back.”