When I was in fifth grade, my teacher was Mr. Allred.
One day at lunch, the school cafeteria served cornbread as one of the items on the tray. On the tables, the cafeteria staff had set out bowls filled with honey butter. We could use our knives to spread it on our cornbread.
Teachers usually ate elsewhere, but that day, Mr. Allred came by our table. He paused, looked around at us boys, and said with a grin, “Today is your lucky day. Be sure to take advantage of it.”
We looked up, confused. “What do you mean?”
He smiled and said, “You boys can lean over to one of the girls and say, ‘Please pass the butter, honey!’” Then he gave us a wink. “I mean, please pass the honey butter.”
Of course, we reacted like any self-respecting elementary school boys would. There were plenty of “ewws” and fake gagging noises. We were not exactly the most emotionally mature bunch, and no one wanted to admit to liking girls. (Though there were a few kids in our class who were “going together,” whatever that meant back then.)
I thought the joke was hilarious. Not because I had any girls I was sweet on. It was just the perfect kind of humor for a fifth-grade lunchroom: clever, a little gross, and unexpected.
Mr. Allred had a gift for those kinds of moments. His playful personality made our classroom a fun place to be. His jokes had a classic “dad joke” quality: corny, harmless, and just funny enough to stick with you for a lifetime.
And I have never forgotten it. Even now, whenever there is butter or honey on the table, I remember Mr. Allred. I have shared the story with my kids over the years. They always roll their eyes when I suggest they try the line out on a girlfriend or boyfriend. But secretly, I think they appreciate the joke just as much as I did.
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