She called them dummies. They were four men who had been out clamming in Long Island Sound for the length of a bitterly cold afternoon in the heart of winter.
Darkness was falling by the time they came into her kitchen with their bushel baskets full of cherry stone clams, wet clothes, and flasks of blackberry brandy. First came her husband Harry Denney, Dummy 1; my Godfather John Cox, Dummy 2; my father George Carlson, Dummy 3; and lanky and lean friend of all Tommy Edwards, Dummy 4.
The names stuck. They loved it. They were warm all over with brandy as they stood in her little kitchen filled with the aromas of Italian cooking, and they thought it was hysterical and true. They were Dummies. (More)
Darkness was falling by the time they came into her kitchen with their bushel baskets full of cherry stone clams, wet clothes, and flasks of blackberry brandy. First came her husband Harry Denney, Dummy 1; my Godfather John Cox, Dummy 2; my father George Carlson, Dummy 3; and lanky and lean friend of all Tommy Edwards, Dummy 4.
The names stuck. They loved it. They were warm all over with brandy as they stood in her little kitchen filled with the aromas of Italian cooking, and they thought it was hysterical and true. They were Dummies. (More)
1 Comments
This is funny and touching. And it's so true. While not to this extent, we've all had dummy moments with our fathers, and will probably provide a few for our kids.
ReplyDeleteThanks for being here.