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).