Tag Archives: son

1471. Clay pigeon shooting

Paddy had always enjoyed clay pigeon shooting. In fact, he was something of the local champion. His nine-year old son, Charlie, was a great help too. Charlie would sit in a ditch on the farm and pull the clay pigeon trap, shooting the clay pigeons into the air at different adjusted angles and heights. Paddy would stand back at quite a distance and shoot each clay pigeon as it suddenly flew unpredictably into the sky. Paddy practiced clay pigeon shooting usually a couple of times a week.

On this particular occasion young Charlie had just over thirty clay pigeons to fire into the air. His father missed hitting only two of them. All the others were successfully blown to smithereens.

When he ran out of clay pigeons to fire into the air, Charlie popped up from the protective ditch to tell his father that the clay pigeons were all used up, and quick-reflex Paddy blew his son’s head off.

Poem 37: Loss

(The poetic form selected for this month is the Standard Habbie aka Burns Stanza).

For eighteen years I nursed and fed.
I can’t believe, son, you are dead.
I try to fathom things you said.
I weep a bit –
The life that we together led –
The end of it.

I’m here to clean out all your drawers;
Your shirts and trousers, socks and smalls.
I’ll pack them quick before I bawl.
This coat I know!
Too short for someone quite so tall!
Such thoughts bring woe.

I’ll leave it for another day.
I cannot clear the past away.
Someone else can pack, I say.
I cannot hide
The path you took when things turned grey –
Your suicide.

1087. Leaving home

Nadia was always cleaning up after her son, Ben; picking up shirts, putting shoes away, picking up towels. Once she had refused to do it, and it became almost impossible to move around. Nadia harped about it a little, but not too much.

Not long after he turned nineteen, Ben decided to leave home and make it on his own. Of course he shared an apartment with several others.

Nadia missed the mess. She half wished she had some shirts to pick up after him, because it would mean he was home. But when they have to fly the nest they have to fly the nest, said Nadia. Goodness knows how messy his apartment will be.

Nadia decided to visit, just to make sure “everything was alright and did he need anything?” It was Saturday.

The apartment was spotless; very neat and orderly. Did he want to pop home for lunch, enquired Nadia? He couldn’t afford the time, he said. It was his turn to do the vacuuming and the week’s laundry. And he thought he might clean all the windows as well.

1050. Natural stubbornality

That’s the trouble with Bertrand; he’s so pig-headed. He might be only eight years old, but he’s as stubborn as an ox. I am almost embarrassed to admit that I gave birth to such a creature. Sometimes I suspect he’s a little backward when it comes to the brains department. Here he comes now.

“Did you clean the stain off the laundry floor as I asked?”

“Yes, but it didn’t work very well. I used mainly water, with 5% tetrasodium ethylenediaminetetraacetate, 6% disodium oxosilanediolate, and 2% alkyl(C8-10) polyethoxypolypropoxybenzene ether. I thought that would work.”

“You naughty, naughty boy. I told you to use 5% boric acid, 5.3% nonylphenol polyethylene glycol ether, 14% dipropylene glycol monomethyl ether, and 1.6% tetrasodium ethylenediamine tetraacetate. No wonder the stain is still there. Go back and try again.”

See what I mean? Stubborn as an ox. He certainly doesn’t take after me, that’s for sure.

981. Consulting mother

981mum

Married Son: Mum, there’s something I want to say. I’d like to have a talk with you.

Mother: You can say what you like to me, dear. What is it you want to talk about?

Married Son: Well it’s about my wife, Heidi.

Mother: What’s the problem? I’m very open. Does she find me difficult? You can say whatever you like.

Married Son: Yes. She doesn’t like the way you seem to criticize everything she does. It seems like she can’t do anything right.

Mother: I most certainly do not. What on earth gave her that idea?

Married Son: Well she…

Mother: It’s all in her mind. She’s a cot case, imagining stuff like that. She’s living in cuckoo land. I’m very surprised you married her. I thought you had more sense.

Married Son: Well she…

Mother: I DON’T WANT TO HEAR ANYTHING FURTHER ABOUT HER INADEQUACIES. YOU MADE THE BED. YOU LIE IN IT. END OF STORY.