There once was a boy...

"There once was a boy,

who had a dog,

they went to a farm,

ate a chicken,

and then they went home."

That's it.

Nothing further, unless you count how many times this story has been told to my children at bedtime. You see, almost every night during their childhood, I told "mostly" original story — adventure tales, mysteries, spooky and silly stories and yarns yet to be classified. But with four kids with a span of 11 years from youngest to oldest, storytelling can be exhausting.

Enter the world's shortest and "greatest" story...

There once was a boy.

I don't even remember when I first told it. Definitely had to be to my oldest son, Jack, a precocious boy with a voracious appetite for stories of every sort — perhaps when he was five — presumably after a long day at work and two slices of cold pizza.

My creativity normally holds few boundaries, but the time had come for him to sleep and I was spent. Still, it's hard to say "no" to a cherub in footie pajamas. "Tell me a story, dad."

So, like so many other stories, I made it up on the spot — and told him this story, said in about as fast as one can say it:

"There once was a boy, who had a dog; they went to a farm, ate a chicken, and then they went home."

Four seconds — five, tops.

Then silence.

He sits there motionless waiting for more... then implores, "And?"

"And, nothing." I say. "You said you wanted a story and I've told you a story."

I am met with an icy stare and a barrage of criticisms by offering such a sham of a story. I think to myself, "I'm not getting paid here, you bring nothing to the table, yet demand to be entertained. You asked for a story — I gave you a story — be happy, shut up and get to sleep."

Instead, I hint with my eyes that I am about to tell him a new and BETTER story — his eyes widen (just like the boy above), yet tell this same derelict story in exactly the same way.

"There once was a boy, who had a dog; they went to a farm, ate a chicken, and then they went home."

Again... and again. Sometimes with feeling. Sometimes with less. Sometimes slowly. Sometimes as fast as possible. Sometimes with interjections. (Who went? Where did they go? What did they eat?) Sometimes as a mystery (Who were these two? Whose farm was it? Did they catch a chicken? And then eat it? Raw?) And other times I'd tell it with an accent — perhaps a drawl — and sometimes no louder than a whisper, all spooky-like.

No matter how you tell it — you're never wrong.

I told it anytime (and every time) that I was not in the mood for a long storytelling session. The same story. The same lines. The same groans. Whether my kids were three or thirteen, the point was a proper transaction occurred... they wanted a story, I delivered a story.

My conscience remains clear to this day.

Also know this... they'll soon start to qualify their ask, "Dad, tell me a story... BUT NOT THAT STORY!"

Which, of course, almost guarantees that There once was a boy is about to be told. This you must do from time-to-time. It builds character... and — KEY POINT — makes your other, more inventive and engaging stories that much better.

Telling There once was a boy is like the ultimate Dad Joke... but it goes deeper than that. The result of its telling is always the same: children who recognize that story time is over and it's time to get to sleep. Their groans will give way to acceptance and finally to slumber.

You can tell that story in your sleep (which is kind of the point). Like I said, it's the world' greatest story that children love to hate.

Feel free to make it your own... and, by-the-way, you're welcome.