Joe Poniatowski

Someone posted a challenge to the writers on Associated Content to come up with humor articles to be posted on the April 1st, April Fool’s Day. Being somewhat of a fool myself, I accepted the challenge, along with a dozen or so of my fellow AC writers. The results are compiled in a Squidoo lens - I’ve included the link below. My entry is printed here for your convenience. If you like it, consider voting for it on Squidoo by following the link.

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Foolin’ With Your Kids
Not only is it our “birth”-right to play jokes on our children, it is also our sacred duty, and one that my wife and I take very seriously. After all, how else will they learn patience? How will they learn humility? How will they learn to fool and embarrass our grandchildren when the time comes?
Embarrassment
There are numerous ways to embarrass your kids. Some kids are embarrassed by the mere presence of their parents when they’re hanging out with their friends. This should be exploited whenever possible. Accentuate whatever traits you possess that your kids find embarrassing. If possible, combine these traits for maximum impact. For example, if your singing embarrasses them and they can’t stand old country music, pull up to the school to pick them up with your windows open, belting out “Lovesick Blues” at the top of your lungs. Volunteer to chaperon the high school dance, and show up wearing the same pastel-colored velvetine tuxedo you wore to your 1979 prom. While there, offer to teach your daughter, her date, and all her friends how to do the “Electric Slide.”
Embarrassing your teenage kids is almost too easy, and can be done pretty much anywhere at any time. Whip out the baby pix showing your son in the buff. Say things like “Aw, my little man is growing up. Looks like he’s finally gotten over the ‘girls have cooties’ phase.” These are especially good when your son is spending time with a new girlfriend.
Tall Tales
Getting your kids to fall for some things is a little more challenging. When my son Stan, who’s now 13, was about 5 years old, he was asking me about the various knobs and buttons on the dash of my car. I went through the radio, windshield washers, fog lights, etc. Then, adopting the soberest countenance I could muster, I pointed to the emergency flashers. “You should never, ever, push this button.”
“Why not?” he gravely asked.
“That is the ejector seat.”
“What’s a ‘jector seat?”
So I explained what an ejector seat was, and how after it was introduced to the public in the James Bond movies, people started asking for them in their own cars. Responding to this demand, the car manufacturers began making them options that anyone could get when they bought a new car.
He was nervous, but fascinated. “So what would happen if I pushed the button?”
“A secret panel in the roof would open up, and a super powerful spring would shoot you right out. The car would keep going, so you’d land in the road and probably get run over by that truck behind us.”
“Wow. Does Katie know about this?” he asked. Katie is his older sister, and I wasn’t sure whether he was worried that she might push the button on him, or excited about the possibility of pushing the button on her.
About a year later, I was again driving with my son in the car, and I had forgotten all about the ejector seat conversation. Not him! We needed milk, so I stopped at the corner store. I told him I would be right out, and to keep the doors locked and not let anyone in the car. He says, “Don’t worry, Dad! If anyone tries to get in, I’ll just slide over into your seat and push the ejector seat button! Boy, won’t they be surprised!”
“Um… yes. But keep the doors locked just in case.”
A few months later we were once again in the car together, and I needed to use the rear defroster. I accidentally hit the emergency flashers button first. They flashed a couple of times before I turned them off and turned on the defroster. My son jerked is head to look at me, eyes wide as tea saucers. I knew what he was thinking. I said, “Boy, it’s a good thing that ejector seat has a 5 second timer! I remembered to shut it off before it flashed 5 times, thank God. You were almost a goner!”
“Da-ad! Why did you do that? You almost splatted me on the road!”
“Sorry pal, I just hit the wrong button. It won’t happen again.”
My wife said that some day when he becomes the laughing stock of his driver’s education class, he’s going to come home and kick my butt. Maybe so, but I won’t be alone. Not long after this last exchange he was basically tattling to his Grandma about me almost splatting him on the road. We had to surreptitiously explain what was going on. Now she’s completely in on it with us. My daughter on the other hand tried to tell him that we were all making it up. When she wouldn’t sit in the passenger seat so he could “prove” that we weren’t (mainly because she couldn’t be bothered to move), he became more convinced than ever that she was lying to him.
Katie is not completely immune to our little charades. Both my kids are considered “gifted,” and as such are in a special educational program called Challenging Academic Potential, CAP for short. One day when Katie was about 8 she came home to tell us that one of her classmates named Kelsey had to go into the hospital because her spine wasn’t growing correctly. I remarked that it was probably an unforeseen consequence of the alien DNA.
“What?” Katie asked.
“Nothing. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“No, really. What did you say?”
I let her pester me for another minute, then I said, “Well, let’s say hypothetically that your mom and I agreed to participate in a top secret experiment. Like a study involving the implantation of genetic material from extra-terrestrial life forms into unborn babies. We would not be able to tell you about it, because it is… I mean, because it would be such a secret. While the intent of such experiments would be to try to enhance intellect, wouldn’t it be possible that some physical changes might inadvertently be introduced?”
Then I conspiratorially whispered to my wife, but just loud enough for the kids to hear, “Isn’t Kelsey one of those that got the reptilian DNA? That might explain some spinal abnormality.”
My wife was right on cue. “Yes, of course!” Then, to the kids, “Like Dad said, this is just hypothetical.
My daughter, speaking for both of the kids, stated unequivically that they were not aliens.
“Of course you aren’t, sweetheart,” said my wife.
“So you admit that you guys are making this up, right?”
“Yes, absolutely. Of course, that is exactly what we would have to say, in any case.”
“Huh! If we were aliens, when Stan was in the hospital for pneumonia, they’d have found out!”
“Well, why do you think I stayed at the hospital with him? It was to make sure that only the ‘right’ doctors and nurses were involved in his treatment! I mean, that could be why I stayed. Hypothetically.”
There was a hint of doubt in Katie’s eyes for a moment, then she resolutely stated that if they were indeed aliens, they would have to be in a special school. Kathy said, “Duh - what do you think ‘CAP’ really stands for? Contains Alien Parts!”
“Yep,” I said. “It’s a lot easier to keep tabs on a bunch of experimental geniuses when they all go to school together.” Sometimes, getting the best of your kids requires teamwork, especially when they’re so smart.Years have gone by since the days when we could get our kids to believe in ejector seats or alien DNA experiments. Katie is driving, and Stan just doesn’t fall for these stories anymore, no matter how elaborate. That doesn’t mean I can’t still get an ocassional rise out of one of them. The other day when Katie’s boyfriend Michael called, Katie wasn’t home. I asked, “Would you like me to tell her you called?”
He said, “Sure, that would be great.”
“Fine. So is this Michael or Jason?” (There is no “Jason” by the way). The poor kid was so flustered, I had to tell him the truth right away. When I relayed the story to Katie, I neglected to mention that I had come clean with Michael. She was not amused.
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