When I mentioned the inaugural Chucklehead Hoedown to my friend Amy, she shook her head, “Too bad there aren’t those old men around anymore that like to tell jokes.” And while I wanted to argue the point, I had to concede that it at least felt that way.

Other than the highly coveted riddle books at every Scholastic book fair, the jokes I remember most vividly from my childhood came from my father. While my dad was a good man, a loyal husband and an upright citizen, I don’t think anyone would describe him as funny. Still, on Wednesday nights after bowling league, he’d always have a fresh joke to share. But there was a problem — a couple, actually.

First, as the youngest child and a teenager, I was the only one awake in the house.

Second, I was a girl.

Third, the humor that the men had shared was bawdy and sometimes downright raunchy.

My father’s strict moral code wouldn’t allow him to share even a slightly off-color joke with his teenage daughter. But late at night, he’d try to connect with his smart-ass child, whom he so often battled.

The solution? Tell the jokes, but clean them up.

The new problem? They no longer made sense. Unbeknownst to him, I would drift off to sleep trying to add the spiciness back into the punchlines.

Later, in my adult life, the comedians have also been male. Fellow faculty member, Peter Frenette, would start our middle school mornings with witticisms that were more often groaners than thigh-slappers. A gift shop customer tells me a joke whenever he stops in. Whenever I see him approach, I frantically look up one to share. And then there is Bob Seidenstein, who has inflicted his cornucopia of corniness upon me for about 35 years.

And it is Bob who is the mastermind behind the Chucklehead Hoedown — an evening of jokes, riddles and puns. The next one is Saturday, Oct. 25, at the Garagery. Doors open at 6 p.m., and the show starts at 7 p.m. All ages are welcome; at the last Hoedown, there were about 60 years between the youngest and oldest jokesters. Comic routines aren’t necessary, just quick, funny bits like:

A husband says to his wife, “I was a fool when I married you!”

His wife replies, “I know. But I was in love, so I didn’t notice!”

The great thing is that no talent is required. By nature, jokes are plagiarized. Just look them up, practice them once or twice, and you’re ready to go. Your material should be short, no tall tales, no stand-up routines. As Bob says, “No fond reminiscences about your beloved Uncle Buck and his loyal hound Freckles.”

Which reminds me — A few weeks ago, I checked on Anders, an old Norwegian friend. He’s a stubborn old coot who lives off the grid on a back road between here and the middle of nowhere.

“Too many people everywhere else,” he tells me. Although he’s self-sufficient, I worry about him. Anders doesn’t have indoor plumbing, and his priorities don’t always include housecleaning or personal hygiene. I bring him baked goods and other treats that he begrudgingly accepts. But he always insists on repaying me by sharing a meal.

While eating the breakfast of eggs and bacon, I noticed a film-like substance on my plate. I tentatively asked, “Anders, are these plates clean?”

He replied, “Those plates are as clean as cold water can get them. Go on and finish your meal.”

A little bit later, a hardened bit of egg stopped my fork dead on the plate. “Anders, seriously, are the plates clean?” I asked.

Looking me straight in the eye, he said, “Uff da. I told you those dishes are as clean as cold water can get them. Now stop badgering me.”

After breakfast, we chatted on his porch. A while later, a little mutt wandered up and settled by Ander’s feet. Happy to see he had some companionship, I ventured, “New dog?”

“Ja.”

“What’s his name?”

“Kaldt Vann.”

“Colt von? Is that Norwegian?”

“Ja.”

“What does it mean?”

“Cold water.”