What's Up Duck?

Well, I came across this photo. It was most interesting in that these ducks are unlike any ducks that I've seen from my dock. These ducks must have immigrated and settled in a more major metropolitan area. I wonder whether these were of the type that were blamed in the crash of that jet into the Potomac River.

While sittin on the Dock, I often find myself thinking about the old days; where I came from, and trying to piece together about how I came to be me.

My father, with the equivelent education of 6th grade (and 6th grade then was not like that of today where they teach Alegbra II or better), joined the Army. My mother would practice with him while he learned to sign his name in script, so he could complete the documents required by his job. He could only print, and barely read, but rose to the highest rank available to an enlisted person. I loved the Army way of life and always wanted to wear a uniform and serve my country as he did.

Mom was better educated but I don't think she had a high school diploma. She was really blessed with common sense and could figure out most anything. She was the stay at home type and ruled our home. How she could stretch a pound of hamburger to feed six children and her husband, then herself, was beyond me. I remember her showing me how to find more meat hidden behind the collar bone of a chicken back, which I do still today. Few things were had that she ever called her own. She was the most caring and giving person I had ever known, such to the point that sometimes it angered me to see her do without so that other (some more capable) had more. And I think she passed that gene directly to her youngest child.

I was fortunate to have been the oldest son. Whether it was clothing or toys, I got them first. They were usually used things handed down from others, and even more used by the time they got to my brothers. We had everything we needed, but always dreamed of more.

I suppose we all have a story. What's yours? I'll tell you more about mine next Sumday.