Once again I�ve been reminded that I married a man like my father. My husband, like my father, occasionally gets ahold of a joke he really likes. My husband, like my father, sometimes cannot remember exactly which people have been told this wonderful joke. But my father has something that my husband does not have: a tactful daughter.

When my father retells a joke, I usually just laugh again. Somewhere around the fifth or tenth time, I may tell him that I have heard it before. But I try not to indicate that I�ve heard it from him before, several times. I try not to roll my eyes (although I occasionally fail) and I certainly do not impugn his character.

But my older daughter has no such qualms. As some of you already know from reading her online journal, the girl speaks her mind, whether anyone wants to hear it or not. So, it should come as no surprise that after her father sent her the same joke twice in e-mail, she responded by suggesting that the �fogey� get �a senility check.�

But rest assured that she will not get away with it. She may be out of her father�s house but she is NOT out of reach of her father. He is equal to her and her sharp typing fingers. She better appreciate that joke because now he will make sure that she sees it every time he writes to her. It already has gone into his next e-mail and if she�s lucky, it will stop there.

Because, you see, I do not put it past him to solicit help. He has not asked yet but I stand willing and able to send that joke several times myself. In person, I could not assist him by retelling the joke because I would never remember it but, with the wonder of computers, I can keep reproducing the joke correctly. It could show up in my e-mails to her, in her guestbook, and in packages. It could show up in her homework folder. It could show up in birthday cards. It could pursue her not only at camp but to college when she goes off there a year from now.

Because, you see, it has dawned on me, especially since my birthday this past weekend, that I am older than Mr. Philately and if he is a fogey, I am one too.

But I am not senile. I am quite sure that I need no senility check. I do not forget. I obsess.

So, dear child, be afraid. Be very afraid. Because even fogeys can unite.

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