But nothing has made me laugh more than the books he’s written

It is a lifelong discipline of mine to avoid this column defaulting to Kids Say the Darnedest Things, but I fear I must make an exception this week. My son is making inroads into comedy, now that he goes to bed clutching a book of jokes by Jamie Smart. These are the real, old-fashioned groaners of mythical archetype. (Sample: what do you call a bear with no ear? B!)

His joy at the wordplay is matched only by his seeming addiction to their grammar, causing him to take pleasure in jokes he can’t possibly understand. He does not, for example, know what a byte is, but seems delighted it’s something a crocodile has in common with a computer. Meaning, it seems, is less important than rhythm as he giggles himself to sleep each night.