Wednesday, March 25, 2015


A chicken farmer went to the local bar.

He sat next to a woman and ordered champagne.

The woman said: "How strange, I also just ordered a glass of champagne."

"What a coincidence," said the farmer, who added, " It is a special day for me. I am celebrating."

"It is a special day for me too, I am also celebrating!" said the woman.

"What a coincidence." said the farmer.

While they toasted, the farmer asked, "What are you celebrating?"

"My husband and I have been trying to have a child for years, and today, my gynecologist told me that I was pregnant."

"What a coincidence," said the man. "I am a chicken farmer and for years all my hens were infertile, but now they are all set to lay fertilized eggs."

"This is incredible," said the woman. "What did you do for your chickens to become fertile?"

"I used a different rooster," he said.

The woman smiled and said, "What a coincidence."

The other day while driving home, my mind started to wander as it usually does. It was the hours before another snow event or storm, and it got me thinking about Dad. Dad had an expression, or sigh, that he did with every dealing he had with the bad weather, opening his lips partially and breathing outward in a forceful manor. It turns out as I was assessing the weather, which is exactly what I did!

Well reminding myself of him, I started to slip into my childhood and remembered how hard he could be on me. It seems since I was 11-years old: I had to work. I would go to school, then: off to the factory job I had that Dad arranged for me as I got older in high school. I would then go home, eat supper and go off to my job at the supermarket working from 6:00 PM to 11:00 PM. I did two things with the money I earned: some was turned in to Mom and Dad and; some was saved for my college education. There was very little left after that, certainly not enough for too many dates or other luxuries.

When I was home, there were of course the endless chores Dad devised for me, working around the house and at times, he had odd jobs and I was volunteered to help him. All the money went into the household fund and that was it, no complaining and I never thought to. This was survival: this was my family that needed me, that was ok with me.

But he was Dad, he had his quirks and he had his failings, and funny thing is, I loved his imperfections more that any thing about him. He made me laugh and he made me appreciate hard work and what it meant to devote your time to doing something progressive like work. He was cheap when he needed to be, but on occasion he was generous too, rare as it was.

So as I drove I thought how I missed him so 24 years later. It seems to me 24 years is a long time to still miss anybody, you’d think the memories would be buried in time, instead they pop up and remind you of who you are and where you came from.



Address: 1231 Taft Hwy, Signal Mountain, TN 37377
Hours: Open today · 10:00 am – 6:00 pm

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