My father (Jack Gianotti, Jr.) had an interesting quirk about him, one that I enjoyed often and which I have sometimes fallen prey to. He was a dignified man in many ways, and I learned a lot from him. He had a master’s degree in political science and, after the war, worked for the United States Army as a civilian, with many of the privileges of a brigadier general. He carried himself erect, spoke with correct English, and fancied himself erudite by occasionally throwing in some big words or poetic flare, expressed in such a way that he expected you to appreciate that he was at least well-read, if not somewhat cultured. Once when I was finishing up a paper for a science project on UFOs (back in the early 1960s), Dad reviewed my report and then added the concluding words, “Are they real or are they not? In truth, the jury is still out.” He was quite self-congratulatory, but I was not so sure about it—that didn’t sound like something I would think up or even say. “In truth, the jury is still out”? What does that mean? But he loved it, and the conclusion stayed in. The teacher gave me a good grade on my 7th-grade science project paper.

He was an avid aficionado of Western and Sci-Fi novels. When he was engrossed in one of those paperbacks, and I wanted to talk with him, I learned to get his attention by saying simply, “Dad.” When he got to a good breaking point in his story, he would finally look up. Sometimes that could take 10-15 minutes, plenty of time for me as a youngster to forget what my question was. He enjoyed life in those creative worlds, which engrossed him for hours.

So what was his quirk? I describe it as a quirk because some people don’t understand why he did it. I look back on it now with a great deal of affection. This quirk was not an annoyance but an indicator that he enjoyed a witty joke so much that he would often repeat the witticism with the same gusto as the first time. He would laugh each time. Some may question what the point is of telling a joke to the same audience (the family) a second or third time and then laugh each time at the punch line. There were a few times when he could hardly finish the joke and tears of laughter would roll down his cheeks. He wanted to enjoy the story, the witticism, or the punchline again. A good story was never a one-and-done event. If it was good the first time around … you get the picture. Often the witticism or joke wasn’t funny to me—but I usually got caught up in the contagion.

Now, as an adult, I find the same urge to repeat things to enjoy them again and again. That is much better than repeating gossip or negatives about people endlessly. So what was one of his favorite jokes/riddles/witticisms? Here is one. Question: “What’s the difference between a duck? Answer: “One leg is both the same!” Get it? No, I didn’t either, and I still don’t. But I laugh when I think of him laughing over it.

Thank God for laughter. I need more of it, even when it makes no sense. Laughter is not about being sensible but about enjoying life together with others. I’d love to hear once more my dad telling a joke or riddle and laugh with him again. What fun that would be … again!