Punchlines

Point of View
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While driving my grandchildren to school I heard a voice from the back of the van. “Opa, could you unlock the doors?”

“No. Why do you want to unlock the doors?” I asked.

“So we can jump out!” they said.

“Why do you want to jump out?” I managed.

“The music!”

The radio was tuned to a classical station.


—Gerry Schinkel

A friend of mine who’s a doctor told this story about her 4-year-old daughter. On the way to preschool, the child began playing with the stethoscope she’d left on the car seat. “Wow,” thought my friend, “my daughter wants to follow in my footsteps and be a doctor!”

Then the child spoke into the instrument: “Welcome to McDonald’s. May I take your order?”


—Sue Lauritzen

My husband is a first-time deacon. Our 3-year-old daughter doesn’t quite understand where the money goes when he brings the offering to the front of the church. One day we found some spare change on the ground. I told her we should put it in the piggybank so we could save it. She replied, “I don’t want to save it. I want to give it to Pastor John!”


—Ashley Wynia

A little boy was attending his first wedding. Looking for an opportunity to teach a little about the sanctity of marriage, his grandma asked, “How many women can a man marry?”

“Sixteen,” said the boy.

Shocked, his grandma said, “Whatever made you say that?”

“Simple,” he said. “Add it up like the preacher said: four better, four worse, four richer, four poorer.”


—Chester VanderZee

Fresh out of law school, a young lawyer was pleading his first case. A train had killed 24 pigs, and the attorney was trying to impress the jury with the magnitude of the injury.

“Yes, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, 24 pigs,” he said. “Twice the number there is in the jury box.”

—John Veltkamp

It seems that our 3-year-old daughter, Megan, has already learned the Sunday afternoon routine of reading The Banner and having a nap on the couch!

While taking a vandalism report at an elementary school, I was interrupted by a little girl, about 6 years old. Looking up and down at my uniform, she asked, “Are you a cop?”

“Yes,” I answered, and continued writing the report.

“My mother said if I ever needed help I should ask the police,” she announced. “Is that right?”

“Yes, that’s right,” I replied.

“Well then,” she said, extending her sneaker toward me, “would you please tie my shoe?”

—Herm Kelderman

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