Mom

It's too bad we are broke (again) this month, I have some more slides from my boyhood that I would like to get into a format to put up on this blog. For some reason the new scanner hooked up to the new computer puts the pictures we scan in into a format that we can't manage to put on this blog. And the new grandbaby pictures the kids post on Facebook, the same. Oh well, on with my Mother's Day post...

One of my earliest memories is getting beat up by a goose. I don't recall exactly what I did to anger it (do not ask if it was a goose or a gander at this late date. I have no idea, nor do I know how to tell the difference even today. All I remember is that this giant bird (when you're five years old it doesn't take much to be giant) came rushing out of a yard and whopped me with the leading edge of it's wings and pecked the foo out of me.

Anyhow, it hurt and it really made me mad. I had done nothing to that critter. I later discovered that geese are very territorial, all I knew is that it was time for revenge. So I ran home because my folks had been doing some kind of project and there were some one by one boards around, the perfect size for a small person's hand to wield as a club.

One was broken and kind of pointy, making it just what I needed, a club that I could also stab with. My plan for justice was spoiled, though. Somehow my Mom got wind of it. Fifty-five+ years makes me forget why, exactly. She may have heard me crying tears the size of horse apples, that goose HURT!

Anyhow Mom caught me about a block from home as I was going back to wreak vengeance and justice on that feathered fiend. Unfortunately my mother took sides with the goose. Worse, she took my weapon of righteousness. Worse yet, I must have said the wrong thing to her because she used that stick. On me, the injured party. Step, swat, step, swat, all the way home. Sometimes there is no justice in the world.

I haven't like geese since.