Reading obituaries for fun. That’s sick, my kids would say if they
knew what I was doing instead of eating breakfast. And maybe it is,
But when you are sad you’ll do
almost anything to bring a little joy into your so-called retired life!
This morning’s obits had a man
named Crummer. Now that’s a name!
Did he go through school being teased about it? I wondered.
And a guy named Frary. All I could
come up with was the old WWI song, “It’s a long way to Tipararry”, about which
we used to say silly things like, “What’s a Rarry? And How would you tip it?”
And the lady named Mock. I was
taught to never knock people’s names so of course I hate myself when I
do, but I couldn't help but make up a “knock-knock-who’s-there”!
And if my name was Burkholder, I
would last until the fourth grade when I’d finally have to ask my mother,
“Where’s our Burk and why are we holding it?”
I could go on down the list but my
coffee is getting cold. And I will probably never get over the kids at my
school calling me “Chicken-brooder”. (My last name was Bruder).
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