The girl came skipping in in from kindergarten one day and told her Mother. “Mommy, we were counting today and none of the other kids could go past 4 but I counted all the way to 10. Is that because I’m blonde?
“Mommy, we were reciting the alphabet. None of the other kids could go past D, but I went all the way to M. Is that be because I’m a blonde?” Continue reading
I miss my father. He was actually three fathers to me. The first, a doting, loving father whose every step I made, the smartest, most handsome man who ever lived. He could do no wrong.
As I grew up, he struggled under increased responsibility. Uncomfortable with adolescent girls, he put up a wall between us, becoming stern, cold, and distant, feeling women should raise girls. I resented what I saw as rejection, not understanding his reasoning. He could do little right.
As I became an adult, we grew close again. He was a loving grandfather, free again to love me. I still miss him.
Bertha was worried about her husband George, so she took him in to the doctor. Bertha was waiting outside while George was talking to the doctor. George told the doctor, “There’s no problem. The Lord takes care of me. When I go to the bathroom, the Lord turns the light on and when I’m through, turns it off.”
Knowing now there was a problem, the doctor called Bertha in to tell her what George said.
She replied, “Dammit, George! How many times have I told you not to piss in the fridge!”