The Black Family Puns

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It was a brisk Saturday morning when Gerald arrived at “The Café,” a hip coffee shop right down the street. Wearing his large, burly black coat, he stared hesitantly at his watch. Thick glasses adorned his bright blue eyes, his gaze like starlight in a clear night sky. He was waiting, intently twiddling his thumbs. After a buzz of his phone, the message from Dad popped up: “Parking now, be there in 5.”

“Dad,” he whispered under his breath, swiping the message away to once again reveal the image on his lock-screen: a hazy picture of an ultrasound.

Gerald had not spoken to his father for three years. They had had a falling out, over which he did not remember. To him it was a competition of who could wait the longest without calling or sending a text. Who could wait the longest: him without a father, or his father without a son? The idea of friction in the relationship hurt like a thorn; piercing his soul more and more everyday. Until recently, out of the blue, “Dad” popped up on his phone. The rest is history. The rest leads to that Saturday morning, at The Café.

Bang! A car door rang out not too far from where Gerald stood. Gerald saw him. His father wore his tweed jacket like a coat of armor. His strut was now weaker than before they stopped talking; a weakness evident in his cane which supported every right step. His shortly trimmed white beard juxtaposed against his uncut, curly grey hair gave him the image of a wise wizard from a fairytale. He used to be that figure to Gerald, yet instead of a nice ancient being acting like a stone to keep him grounded, Gerald had felt as though his father was a rock pulling him deeper and deeper into a sea of monotony. Holding him back from his true potential. Maybe that was why he left? He still did not know.

“Hello, son,” came the withered voice Gerald had sook for so long, yet now that it had arrived wanted to avoid. “I can’t believe it’s been so long!”

“Yeah,” said Gerald, allowing a smile to grace his face. “Too long!”

Then they hugged, signifying a change in their relationship. Gerald had hoped something could happen to bring them closer together. He did not want to go on wondering what could have been. The regret and sadness weighed him down. Before starting a new family, Gerald wanted to be reacquainted with his own.

After finding their table and sitting down, the two began to discuss life. It was like old friends catching up after a long break. Although it took some time, Gerald began to warm u

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Reddit admins have recently granted ownership of /r/BlackFathers to myself and a group of other Black/POC mods, and it is our intention to make this a positive and supportive community. This is a place where Black/POC fathers and their family, friends, and colleagues can find helpful resources, welcoming content, and a safe space to learn from each other and share our experience.

Content of all types are welcome so long as the subject/focus of the content is supportive of Black/POC fathers. We look forward to seeing you there.

Trevor loved tractors. And I mean, really loved tractors. Forget any obsessions or high-level interests you may have, chances are they pale in the face of Trevor’s love for tractors.

Every day Trevor would get up, in his tractor-themed bedroom in his tractor-themed house, with its tractor-themed wallpaper and tractor-themed carpets, and he would make his bed with its tractor-themed duvet and tractor-themed sheets. He would go downstairs in his tractor-themed pajamas into his tractor-themed kitchen, with its tractor-themed tiles and cupboards, and he would eat his breakfast while perusing the latest tractor-themed magazine or annual.

Trevors’s degree in Agricultural Engineering hung on his living room wall, along with a copy of his thesis, which centred around (you guessed it) tractors. The living room was decorated with all sorts of tractor-related trinkets, including die-cast models, paintings and drawings.

The hedges in Trevor’s front garden were trimmed in the shape of tractors. His lawn was vividly decorated with tractor-driving garden gnomes, and his garden furniture was constructed from various parts from vintage tractor designs.

Trevor just had one thing missing from his otherwise tractor-centric life; he had never actually owned, nor driven, a real tractor.

Not for his lack of trying, of course. Trevor had been to many tractor shows over the years, and visited many farms with friends of his, but none of the tractors he had seen had ever been quite right. Trevor was so knowledgeable about tractors that every single one he had come across had possessed some hidden trait that he wasn’t keen on. His first experience of driving a real tractor had to be perfect.

One day, Trevor was flicking through one of his favourite publications, Powertrain Quarterly, when there was a knock at the door. Trevor answered, and it was his friend and fellow tractor enthusiast, Jeff.

Trevor welcomed Jeff in, and over tea and crumpets served on tractor-themed crockery, they discussed the merits of aluminium drawbars and front-end loaders. Eventually Trevor pressed Jeff to explain the reason for his visit.

“Well” said Jeff, “As I’m sure you know the convention comes to town later”.

The convention. Trevor had been thinking of little else the past three weeks. The neighbouring town annually threw a convention for farmers, particularly farmyard machinery. There would be combine harvesters, lawnmowers, and of course, tractors.

“Yes of course” replied Trevor

If your onion sang hip-hop, would that be a rapscallion?

I used to be an astronaut, but I got tired of eating out of satellite dishes. I wasn't allowed to eat the Milky Way, even though I had to look at it every day. The worst thing was, I never got to visit The Space Bar. Then, when I was visiting the dark side of the moon, I was bitten by a parasite. Now, you might think it's crazy, but the doctor who removed it called it a lunar-tick.

If "womb" is pronounced "woom" and "tomb" is pronounced "toom", shouldn't "bomb" be pronounced "boom"?

China recently tested a new steroid. It basically turns you into The Hulk. The side effect is it could turn you into a crazed zombie that tends to rip the upper extremities from people. People are saying that this could be the zombie apocalypse. In my opinion, lips have nothing to do with it. I call it ARMageddon. The only way to stay safe now is to not let anyone close enough to disarm you.

I recently was going to join the railroad union. I decided against it because it's complicated. If I received instruction on driving the locomotive, would they call it engineering, or training?

I got a sad story about a flower. I don't know who the heck she pissed off, but damn, now she's a Black-Eyed Susan.

I finally figured out what makes leaves angry. Fall. They get so mad they change color. Some are yellow. They're just afraid and run from their problems. The other ones usually just leave.

I went parachuting with my military buddies once. We landed on a department store. I told him I think we're at the wrong coordinates. He said: "Nope. We're right on Target"

I asked a psychologist if Native Americans have strong emotions. He said "Oh yeah, they're intense".

If a psychotic person thought something made sense, would that thought be psychological?

If Matt Damon were searching for a secondhand store, would he be Goodwill Hunting?

My friend is a Marksman for the military. One day, he went to the armory and asked for 3 snipers. They gave him a candy bar. It was a 3 Musketeers.

I want to be there if Dwayne Johnson ever uses a pizza stone. That way I can smell what "The Rock" is cookin'.

Christopher bought a lemon, and the car broke down. Now Christopher Walken.

Have you heard about the latest bank battle on Wall Street? Capital One and Chase got in a fight and Capital One.

You know what a pirate says to his wenches when he sees the shoreline? "LAND HO!"

A man finds a lamp in the desert and dusts it off. Poof! A genie p

My Little Sister: No! What happened?!

Dad: Dont worry, he woke up.

My Little Sister: ROLLS EYES

Me: Hahahahahaha! Nice.

My Little Sister: Omg! Is this funny?

Dad: No, THIS IS PATRICK! (We all really love SpongeBob SquarePants)

I GET UP TO GIVE MY DAD A HIGH FIVE AND HIS PHONE RINGS AS SOON AS I GET UP. IT'S MY MOM CALLING HIM FROM THE KITCHEN

Mom: Hi, I was wondering if I had the right number. Is this funny?

Dad: No! THIS IS PATRICK!

My Little Sister: Really?! You too Mom?!

Mom: No, I'm 49 sweetie.

My Little Sister: Nevermind! I'm watching, "Black Mirror," in my room by myself.

Dad: Sweetie, African American, don't just call them Black. That's not nice.

My Little Sister: ............. I hate you all.

• I know this isn't necessarily a,"Dad Joke." It's more of a conversation my Dad and Little Sister had. But it was seriously one of the funniest moments I've ever seen.

• I really love my family. Lol

The family and I stopped in at local store to buy some things. Driving home from store I hear an "oh no!" from the back seat. My daughter was holding a new bottle of bleach on her lap and I guess the lid wasn't on tight and it spilled a little on her skirt. We get home and she and my wife are working diligently on trying to prevent any stains from forming on her black skirt.

Me: "I hope you understand if I say I hope things don't turn out all white"

Wife: disgusted and odd stare in my direction.

Daughter: "What?"

They continued to ignore me the rest of the evening. I guess I failed; or maybe succeeded.

Eating dinner with the family, we were talking about the weather and I said:

"I think the weather is racist, here it is black history month and all you see outside is white powder!"

My wife asked me if I got it from the internet, I said no but figured it should end up there!

My whole family is very, very white.

So my brother and I are at an NHL hockey game. I forget who was playing. My brother and I had gone to get some snacks are where trying to get my dads attention. We called his name, we waved, we screamed, we screeched, and nothing would get his attention. Finally we determined that we get his attention by calling the pet name he used for us when we were getting into mischief.

... 1 ... 2 ... 3 ... COTTONPICKER!!!

At that moment 3 huge black guys turned around. I wondered for a second why they looked like they wanted to murder us. I had never actually parsed the word cottonpicker before; but in the second second I did. Took till the third second until I realized the rascist connotations of that term, and why 3 huge black guys might have some ill will towards us for screaming it so flippantly. I can only imagine how my 13 year old eyes looked as I processed this information. By the forth second I had grabbed my brother and we were running. We didn't stop for 10 minutes. We couldn't go back to our seats for the whole game since these guys were sitting right behind us.

After the game I let my father know how pissed at him I was.

TLDR: Dads don't have rascist pet names for your kids; you may get them killed.