I never see a goose without thinking of my dad. My dad was born in 1914. The house he grew up in did not have an indoor toilet. He told me that when he was little, it always was an adventure getting to the outhouse. His father and mother kept a goose for the eggs. The goose apparently thought it was her job to protect the outhouse. Dad would have to out run the goose to the outhouse. If he were not fast enough, she would grab him by the seat of the pants with her beak. He said when that would happen he could not go anywhere. The mental picture of my dad, a small lad of 4 trying to run while being held back by a goose that had his behind firmly held in her beak, always made me laugh. Dad had good stories of his childhood.
Besides telling me stories of his childhood, my dad would patiently read to me my favorite nursery rhymes and stories night after night at bedtime. My two favorite nursery rhymes when I was little were:
Fuzzy Wuzzy was a bear
Fuzzy Wuzzy had no hair
Fuzzy Wuzzy wasn’t fuzzy was he?
And:
I never saw a purple cow
I never hope to see one
But I can tell you anyhow
I’d rather see one then be one.
I guess even as a little girl, I was a sucker for the physically handicapped and mentally ill. No wonder I became a Social Worker. Later as a mother, I was ecstatic to find a stuffed bear that had a fur coat that unzipped and came off like a union suit. He had red-stripped underwear underneath. My little girl at first did not know why I insisted he be called Fuzzy Wuzzy. But I was glad to tell her the poem and also glad someone had, from my point of view, been able to solve Fuzzy Wuzzy’s no hair problem, and very neatly too. Never did find a purple cow, but that is why I am a Social Worker and not a mental patient.
Besides telling me stories of his childhood, my dad would patiently read to me my favorite nursery rhymes and stories night after night at bedtime. My two favorite nursery rhymes when I was little were:
Fuzzy Wuzzy was a bear
Fuzzy Wuzzy had no hair
Fuzzy Wuzzy wasn’t fuzzy was he?
And:
I never saw a purple cow
I never hope to see one
But I can tell you anyhow
I’d rather see one then be one.
I guess even as a little girl, I was a sucker for the physically handicapped and mentally ill. No wonder I became a Social Worker. Later as a mother, I was ecstatic to find a stuffed bear that had a fur coat that unzipped and came off like a union suit. He had red-stripped underwear underneath. My little girl at first did not know why I insisted he be called Fuzzy Wuzzy. But I was glad to tell her the poem and also glad someone had, from my point of view, been able to solve Fuzzy Wuzzy’s no hair problem, and very neatly too. Never did find a purple cow, but that is why I am a Social Worker and not a mental patient.
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