This
November my daughter will turn forty-eight.
And
in the same month, fifty-three years ago, I will
have
entered the Army at seventeen years of age. In
December
my son will usher in his fifty-first year.
My
kids are busy at work chasing me around the
calendars
which are rapidly sailing by. For now,
at
least, I shall remain in the lead of our lifetime
regatta.
I can see them now astern on the horizon.
I
shall trim the mainsail and tack starboard for
awhile.
And when they get close enough to see
my
face, I shall smile at them, and yell out in a
gravely
voice, “Avast, Mateys!” Then, I’ll hoist
my
sail full mast, and give ‘er all she’s got...”Arr!”
My
kids will then remind me that we live in the
Midwest
and are from a long line of landlubbers.
Besides,
you were in the Army, Dad, not the Navy.”
“Okay
then,” I’ll tell them, “Mount up! Last one to
the
mess hall gets to spend a night in the brig...Arr!”
(I
just love it when I get to mix my metaphors.)
Chris
Hanch 1-8-17
No comments:
Post a Comment