A father and daughter sit on a blanket in the park.

Daughter: Papa! PAPA! HEY, PAPA!

Father: Yes, what?

Daughter: I asked you a question.

Father: Oh, really? That’s ironic.

Daughter: Don’t change the subject: I asked you a question.

Father: I didn’t hear you; what was the question?

Daughter: How could you not hear me? I’m sitting next to you!

Father: That’s the irony.

Daughter: No, I asked you what those people are doing over there.

Father: I didn’t hear you because I was thinking about when I was little, this one day—I was about eight years old, I guess—and I was playing with a walkie talkie at my cousin’s house. He was in the front yard of his house and I was in a treehouse down the street from him. We were talking together on the walkie talkie and a car drove by and suddenly we heard this voice on the walkie talkie saying “WHAT ARE YOU KIDS DOING!” The voice had such authority and such punishment in it, that I screamed with pleasure into the walkie talkie: “DAD, IS THAT YOU?” And then I sprinted back to the house because I thought that my dad was there and had condescended to speak with me via the walkie talkie.

Daughter: And did he?

Father: No, the car that drove by was the police; the police have walkie talkies, too, and can talk to people.

Daughter: The police talked with you?

Father: Yes, my dad was nowhere to be seen, but I had thought that, finally, after all these years of completely ignoring my existence other than inflicting verbal or physical pain upon me, my father had condescended to play a simple game with me. Me, of all people! Haha!

Daughter: That’s silly.

Father: Yes, and ironic.

Daughter. I don’t know ironic.

Father: It means that I was sitting here thinking about an emotionally distant father and, in doing so, I was an emotionally distant father. Haha!

Daughter: Okay, but what are those people doing over there?

The end.