The Colonel’s First Story, pt. 2

January 23, 2014.Reading time 4 minutes.

Over the next few weeks, I am serializing Colonel Birdwhistle’s first story. Click here to start at the beginning: Part 1 .

And now, I submit to you Part 2:

Mrs. Dobrey returned in a moment followed by a boy exactly the opposite of her slight build. Every aspect of him was round, from his trunk to his cherry cheeks. Rolls of fat calves punched out of short pants that were too tight for him. His arms stuck out of his shirt sleeves like dough squeezing out of a tube. A look at the lad, who appeared miserably confined in clothing far too small, elicited a feeling of pity. Looking from mother to son, the Colonel found it hard to believe they were cut from the same cloth. They just didn’t belong together. Yet here they stood, silently looking at the Colonel and expecting something from him.

“Well…hello,” he paused trying to remember the boy’s name, but he could not.

“I’m Leon,” said the boy.

“Yes, yes. Good day, Leon,” said the Colonel. “A fine young lad. I am Colonel Clarence Birdwhistle. I had the pleasure of meeting your mother and she said you might have some interest in me.”

The boy strained his neck to look up at his mother, who smiled back down at her angel and nudged him to redirect his attention. Leon took the correction and once again stood quietly staring at the Colonel, who had no idea how to entertain the child. He cleared his throat, rubbed his mustache and even pretended to be occupied with caring for Oscar, who didn’t help in the ruse at all. He had taken to dozing on the sun-warmed pavement and growled at the interruption from a good nap. Still the boy stood and said nothing. Finally the mother broke the silence.

“Couldn’t you tell him a story from one of your adventures in Africa?” she suggested.

“I suppose I could,” replied the Colonel, uncomfortably shifting in his chair. He cleared his throat once more and searched his memory for something to say. The boy teetered forward and back and came to rest in a seated position with his legs crossed in a most awkward fashion.

“Well, Leon. I can think of something that might interest a boy like you,” began the Colonel. “Do you know what the word cannibal means? It’s a beastly thing, Leon. Practiced only among the low, uncivilized people of the world…” Hearing a loud cough intended to interrupt, he looked up and saw Mrs. Dobrey standing behind the boy flailing her hands in a violent manner and mouthing the word, “NO!”

Taking the obvious cue, he changed direction. “…But that is a tale for another day, my boy. Let me see…. I recall an event when the local witch doctor put a spell on us…” He stopped short as he spied the disapproving mother shaking her head once again. He fell silent as he tried to find an appropriate memory to relay.

Part 3

A Pursuit of Misguided Passions

January 16, 2014.Reading time 3 minutes.

In a surprise turn of events, I’ve been compared by my eldest daughter to Neil Patrick Harris. Unfortunately, it isn’t for his good looks, charm, or wit. No, I’ve been compared for something else entirely. Her new favorite show is How I Met Your Mother. I’ve never watched it, but she tells me that I remind her of Barney because, and I quote, “You come up with dumb ideas and pursue them passionately.”

Accused of this, I asked the family for examples thinking there might be one or two that came to mind and I could dismiss the charge as teenage overdramatics. Instead, what followed at the dinner table was a litany of hair-brained schemes I’ve had over the years. While my aged mind flutters from one to the next, their young memories file and categorize every crack-pot idea I’ve ever had. I was astounded at how long the list grew and had to agree, many of them were pretty stupid.

Take for instance, my attempt to woo a cat to live with us. In my defense, I didn’t know he belonged to a neighbor. I met him on my porch one night and started feeding him…and named him…and read to him.
The running kilt and 5k run dressed up as Jonah complete with a sign saying, “Repent Ninivites!”
My attempt to prove the existence of Chupacabras (which still goes on).
Food came up often. Don’t let me around a chocolate fountain – the last time I discovered chocolate-covered Shrimp and hushpuppies (Yum!). Topping the food category were the Twinkie Dog and Spice Cream, both served at Uncle Bubba’s Hot Dog Emporium.
Llamas in the Basement – a cheap imitation of Goats on the Roof in Tiger, GA, only bigger…and subterranean.
There was the notorious failed Labor Day kitten capture of a feral cat at my office.
Goodwill Hawaiian shirts worn on a mission trip to every continent. (2 down, 3 to go)
The #PartyMark ear bud holders.
My annual attempts to lure and slap a pelican during our beach vacations.

Last but not least: 2021 – The Year of No Pants. Before you get the idea that I plan on joining a nudist camp, I plan on being pantless appropriately. There are plenty of coverings officially called: Unbifurcated Garments. Kilts, togas, dashiki, gho, sarongs, kimonos, Fustanella, tunics, Männerrock (literally translated as man-skirt) would all be used to cover whilst I remain pantsless. I’ve got it all planned for the year after my youngest daughter leaves for college. I thought that would make them worry a little less about the ramifications of coming home to find Daddy lounging happily in his unbifurcated garments. This is genius! Or as NPH says:

LEGEN- wait for it – DARY!