DUUUUUUUUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
On my fifteenth birthday in October 1977, my Mother went
into the hospital. We really didn’t know
when she would return. I knew how sick she was, and my Dad had just found
out. He was a man who really didn’t pay attention
to much outside of himself. My Mom was reserved, conservative and quiet. Often
unassuming. By age eleven, I was my
Mom’s confidant. I heard everything. I listened, prayed and gave advice quietly to
my Mom. There were three of us children in the family. My brother two years my
senior and my sister thirteen and a half years my junior. I was the ‘built-in’ babysitter as Mom said
it.
Since my brother and I had school and some extra curricular
activities after school, my Dad got my parent’s Accountant, Jack Shea’s wife to
watch after my little sister who was aged eighteen months at the time. I would
otherwise clean, cook and care for my little sister before and after school.
About four weeks after my mother had been admitted into the hospital. She was granted leave for a few hours to have
a quiet Thanksgiving home with just us, so her family of five could be
together.
Soon arrived Thanksgiving morning. It was a breezy, sunny, November
day. Dad would demand lamb on Thanksgiving.
He claimed that he was just too Irish and Scottish to eat Turkey, and
that’s another story for another time. So here it was, Dad was to pick up Mom
at about three in the afternoon and get her back to the hospital by six that
evening, after a somewhat early dinner. Before he picked up Mom, he wondered
what Thanksgiving would be. What we could make and serve to create our own form
of Thanksgiving. Upon these thoughts, he said, “Well Jo, I got to go pay Jack
Shea. We’ll figure something out.” My
brother was still asleep, and I was caring for our little sister.
The Shea’s living near Sunset Boulevard, an area known as
White Beeches. And so, goes our dinner.
The two men, Jack and my Dad stood
looking out onto Sunset Boulevard talking. Next what occurs, is beyond
ridiculous. It is actually quite miraculous.
Three white pond ducks are walking across Sunset Boulevard. And yes, as luck
would have it, a vehicle was speeding on the already quite swift forty-five
mile per hour pine tree lined roadway. It must’ve been doing close to sixty
miles per hour. As it sped, it cleanly
sheared off the three adult white pond duck’s heads as they were crossing the
middle of its lane.
My Dad just got done telling Jack he was at a loss for
dinner. Dad ran out into the middle of
the street, yelling to Jack, “I got dinner!” Jack thought my Dad was nuts at
first; then he saw the duck’s bodies were in very good shape. Jack’s wife heard
the commotion, which she thought the whole thing was atrocious. Yet, Mrs. Shea
kindly retrieved old newspapers for my Dad to wrap the duck’s bodies in. Dad arrives home, it’s just before noon. He
orders me to get him a brown paper bag and more newspapers. Without my asking,
Dad says, “We’re having duck for Thanksgiving. Shea’s are getting one. I promised them. I got three ducks to clean.”
As my Dad knelt outside at the end of the driveway by the
garden, feathers flew everywhere as he plucked and gutted with fury, like I’d
never seen a man do in my life. One
thing I knew. He knew what he was
doing. He was happy. Dad loved duck and
he knew how to cook wild game. I figured out what frozen vegetables we could
use, made a crudité, mashed potatoes, Dad made the duck and a sweetened gravy
for the duck. He got Mom on time, brought her home for a couple hours and got
her back on time after the five of us had dinner.
It’s funny as I write this now, this morning my husband and
I lay in bed listening to the wind howl outside before we started our day. I
told him two other stories that he hadn’t been aware of. All though this story
wasn’t one of them. It is one I will remember for its uniqueness. And for the
fact that I felt at peace, in the middle of all that uncertainty. Now that’s a
miracle.---Jody-Lynn Reicher
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