A couple weeks ago me and my 3 sons, ages 13, 11, and 5 were having dinner at our home with a friend of mine who’s been down on his luck in recent years. While it’s not immediately obvious, he’s missing a few teeth on the bottom left side. My 5 year-old was celebrating the fact that he’d just lost his first tooth.
At one point during the dinner conversation, my friend smiled in just the right way, and my little one exclaimed “Oh! I see YOU’VE lost a tooth too! Let’s see, let’s see!!”
I almost lost it.
Our boy’s three kids are, in age order, Amanda, Brandon, and Jordan. And being little brothers, the boys are adept at getting on Amanda’s nerves – not that she doesn’t give as good as she gets!
But one day when she was about nine, and the boys, seven and five, were making her life miserable, we were visiting and offered to make a grocery run to pick up a few things needed to fix dinner that night.
Amanda, apparently quoting an adult, looks at us and says, “Can I ride along to the store with you? I absolutely need some time away from children!” She was mortified at the gales of laughter that remark elicited from her grandmother, her parents, and us.
I hesitate to post this because I honestly cannot remember if this really happened when I was younger, or if I just dreamed it, but I suppose its amusing nonetheless.
When I was little, I remember getting a lot of piggyback rides. The big tall adults would throw you up on their shoulders and let your legs dangle down and it was a lot of fun to be up that high where you could see everything.
Even at that age, however, I had a healthy fear of heights and grown-ups lack a suitable handle or safety harness. Because of this, whenever I got a piggy back ride it was my custom to grab a fistfull of the grown-ups hair to hang on to. Secured by this anchor I felt confident and was able to enjoy the ride.
So, one day at some kind of party my dad and I were at, we were standing in the garage and one of the grown-ups offered me a piggy back ride. I eagerly climbed up and he started off as I reached down to grab a fistful of hair to steady myself. Except, to my horror, I quickly discovered the guy was bald as a cueball!
Panicing, I looked around frantically for something to hold on to, but there was nothing on him. Realizing there was no hope, fight-or-flight immediately kicked in. We're going down! EJECT! EJECT! EJECT! As he walked under the open garage door I latched onto the bottom, unwrapped my legs, and rode the door 6 feet to the ground like an action movie super-hero. My noble balding stead was of course extremely surprised to find that the load he was carrying was gone.
The best part was, after it was all over, some lady who was carrying a video camera around said “We didn’t get that on the camera! Would you do that again?”
Yeah right lady. 
Uh, can you explain to us non-aussie dopers what “his dummy” is? 
This non-Aussie doper assumes that a “dummy” is a pacifier.
I was riding in a car with my family, including my then six-year old son. We were just talking about this and that, and I let into one of my bad jokes. I started the joke to my son:
“I saw a bad accident the other night. A Mustang hit a Henway.”
Normally, one gets the desired response “What’s a Henway”, and you say “About three or four pounds.” Old joke.
My son says “What’s a Mustang?”
Everyone laughed at me for the rest of the ride.
The other day I was walking home from the market. Ahead of me, two boys were sprawled in a lawn, firing cap guns. Another boy was across the street. He had a bicycle.
Boy with bicycle: You can’t shoot me because I have a big shield around my bicycle!
Boy with gun: Why don’t you come over here and play?
BwB: I’m not aloud to cross the street.
BwG: But your big shield will protect you from cars. Won’t your big shield protect you from cars?
BwB (in a very sad voice): I already axed my mom and she says “No”!
Hmm. Maybe you had to be there. 
One time I was looking after a friend’s six-year-old son, and we were walking to a nearby playground. To get there, we had to cross S.W. Marine Drive, which is a busy trucking route. While we were waiting for the light, a big ol’ semi rattled past, copiously spewing diesel exhaust.
Little guy looked up at me, heaved a dramatic sigh and solemnly declared, ‘You know, Lar, it’s a stinky world.’
Years later, I can never smell exhaust fumes without remembering that and cracking up.
I have a couple of stories. I dont have children of my own- these stories are from children of friends of mine.
#1The other day I was talking to my best friend’s 3 year old on the phone. The conversation went like this:
Me: Natalie, do you know what you want to be when you get older?
Natalie: Yes! A kid!! (laughs hard) Just kidding!!
Me: Ok, what do you really want to be?
**Natalie: ** A teacher.
Me: (very pleased) Thats great! And what do you want to teach??
**Natalie: ** I want to teach people what to do when their gum falls out of their mouths. 
#2My friend was telling me about her and her son’s (he’s 5) trip to the grocery store with my friend’s brother in law. Their walking up and down the aisles shopping when her son takes off, a few seconds later he comes back holding a bottle of Baileys liquor. Brother in law asks, what do you have there? Her son looks up and says loud and proud, “This is Mommy’s juice!” :eek:
#3This is actually a story of my best friend when she was little. Her grandmother is always proudly telling us this one. Her name is Gina. When Gina was little, she absolutly loved the Happy Birthday song sung to her. Gina also hated potty training. So, in order to get her to sit on the potty her mom would sing Happy Birthday to her whilst Gina sat and went potty. It got to the point where anyone who happend to be in the house would have to gather in the bathroom and sing to Gina while she clapped her hands in glee. Apparently there were a few times when Gina demanded a cupcake with candles in it. That story cracks me up everytime.
I was about 4, and visiting my grandparents farm. I happened to be in the bathroom when Grandma took out her dentures to brush them, and my my mouth went wide open because of the shock of such a sight.
I reached in to grab my own teeth, and they stayed put. I was doubly shocked. I looked at her and said, “But Grandma, God glued mine in!”
My dad was the wild child of his rather straightlaced family, and it rubbed off on me.
One time we had Sunday dinner at my other grandparent’s house, with the entire extended family present. Grandpa was well known for his long-winded graces, and he pealed off one that bored the hell out of me, a precocious 6 year old. As soon as he said “Amen”, I added “I’ll drink to that!”
A dummy is the thing you give a baby to suck on to shut them up.
Best picture I can find is here to the right of the page.
Ah, like Steelerphan said, a pacifier.
Silly me. :rolleyes:
Recently there were several young children playing in my yard (mostly boys ages 4-5 and a couple of girls aged 3). They decided to play boyfriend - girlfriend and Jeffrey asked Macie if she would be his girlfriend, well, actually he told her she could be his girlfriend. She agreed and they held hands and went to play on the swingset and with some of the other toys and children but kind of stuck close to each other for awhile. After a bit they each started playing with someone else and seemed to forget about their game, but Macie looks up to see Jeffrey playing ball with another girl and strides over to him and says, “Jeffrey! We NEED to have a talk!”
When my sister was about 4, we went to our aunt’s house for a visit. She lived in a retirement apartment complex. When we left to head home it was just getting dark and people’s lights were coming on but they hadn’t yet closed their blinds. As we came around the corner right in front of us, was a bedroom window with a very old lady who was once, umm, well endowed, (but time and gravity had apparently taken it’s toll) getting undressed. My sis blurted out “Oh my gosh what happened to that lady’s toobs!” ( She often would combine words, tits and boobs = toobs)
For my son’s third birthday we invited the family from both sides. With everybody we expected and a couple extras visiting from out of town, we had nineteen people in our very little house. Some of his presents were toys with small parts or that had several pieces. Since I didn’t want them getting lost in the general confusion, I told him he could take them out of the packaging after everybody left. I steered him toward the toys he could use, but he wanted all the new things, especially since they were some of his favorites. After about the third time he asked me if he could open something and I told him he’d have to wait, he marched up to his grandma and said straight out, “Why don’t you go home?!”
Luckily it was my mom and not my MIL. Mom understands these things and was amused. MIL would have cried.
Earlier today (well last afternoon) while at the supermarket I was gettging milk out of the big fridges there. A kid, maybe 4 or 5 years old comes up to the fridge and can’t open it. I open it for him and he says “My dad said I could get the milk!” in a very happy tone. I opened the door and made sure he was fine with holding half a gallon and then he went back to his dad, who was standing near the cart halfway down an isle smiling at his son. It may not be the funniest thing, but it got a grin out of me.
I have another entry for the “first encounter with a black person” category. I was born in a very predominantly white portion of upstate New York. At the age of two, the only black person I had ever seen was Bill Cosby. I suppose my brain thought of blackness as something only Bill Cosby had, since nobody else I’d met possessed this quality.
Cut to me at age two eating breakfast with my mom at IHOP. In a booth near the back is a black gentleman sitting by himself. Seeing this, and being surprised at this novel opportunity, I get up, wander over to the man, put on a big smile, and yell: “Hi, Bill Cosby!”
According to my mom, the man was highly amused by this. Good thing, I’d hate to have offended.
This is redundant, isn’t it? 
I don’t know what it is about this thread, but after you read five or six posts they all start to seem funnier.
A few months ago, one of my coworkers brought his little boy (about three years old) to the office. This man is very tidy and well-groomed, and his children always look as though they just stepped out of a clothes catalog. Upon being introduced to one of the women in the office, the little boy held out his closed hand to her, saying “Here, hold this!” I’m sure she thought he wanted her to hold on to some small toy, but it turned out he was giving her a very large and messy booger
Another one of those family stories that won’t die—when my brother was about seven, we were sitting around the Christmas tree munching on pizzelle (an Italian wafer-like dessert that is flavored with anise), and he proclaimed loudly, “Mmmm! This tastes like anus!”
When I was about 5 or so, I declared to my mom that I wanted her to grow me a sister in her uterus. Never happened though.
My half brother was taking a shower with my dad, and in a moment a lot of little boys have, was quite impressed with the relative size of my dad’s manhood. This meant, of course, he had to brag about it…so we are celebrating my dad’s 50th birthday, and my brother runs in the living room with my dad in tow and says, “everybody! EVERYBODY!”
Everyone stops talking and looks at my brother. My brother points to my dad’s crotch and exclaims in a very deep voice, “BIIIIIIG peepee!” :eek:
It must have taken an hour to get everyone to calm down after that one.
When I get rushed to the hospital later tonight for a busted gut, I’m blaming this thread.
Three stories:
My grandfather is still alive. At a family gathering one day, my three-year-old daughter eyed him up, her 76-year-old gg’father and asked slowly, “Padre, do you gots a penis?”
He went :eek: and said, “Ummmm… yeaaaaaaah.”
At a similar family gathering, except when my daughter was two, she waited for a break in conversation and then asked him, “Padre, are you OLD or GOOD?”
We took the same daughter out to eat when she was about three. Mid-meal, she starts waving frantically. I look up, startled, just as she hollers, “MOM! IT’S JACKIE CHAN! THAT’S JACKIE CHAN, MOM! LOOK MOM! LOOK! WOW!” It was, alas, not the celebrated Mr. Chan but a rather bemused and perplexed Asian man, who was kind enough to wave back at her, bless him.
Mrs. Furthur