Apparently, I was a pretty precocious kid. Anyhow, I used to get home from school, kindergarten, everyday at the same time and would be greeted by the same question from my mother, "What did you do in school today?" Well, truth-be-told, the same thing as we did the day before, we tied our shoe laces, ate some cookies, a kid wet his pants, and we did naps after story time. Already, by age five, I had become jaded and bored with how mundane the "twenty hour work week" could be. It's kindergarten, we only worked half shifts making cotton snow men. So, anyhow, one day my mom unleashes the same old question, and I just straight up told her that one of my classmates, Randy Dyer, has an uncle who owns a dairy farm and he brought a cow to school for everyone to see and pet. My mom was absolutely amazed and pleased that we got to experience something as "udderly" awesome as that. Pardon the pun, when one is there, I have to take it, union rules that I will explain later. Anyhow, I stuck with the cow story, elaborated on it some, and then went off to play super heroes out in our back yard. For some reason I was always Aquaman, which doesn't make sense because he's a blonde and I am not. Well, about three days later, my best friend Todd's mother is down for coffee with my mom. Shirley had gone to high school with my mom and they were close friends themselves for years. So, over coffee cake and conversation, my mom tells Shirley, "Wasn't it incredible how that boy's uncle brought a cow to the school for all the kids to see?" Shirley was absolutely flabbergasted that her son would have failed to mention something so out of the ordinary. So, Shirley calls Todd away from a fairly fierce debate over whether Iron Man could beat Spiderman in a fight and asks him about the cow. Todd didn't know anything about any cow, and was far too slow, even as a best friend, to help cover my tracks. He just shrugged, said, "Nope. Never happened," and came back to the living room to start a new debate: Superman vs. The Hulk.
Later that week, after the results of my spanking had somewhat subsided, my mom attended the semi-annual parent/teacher conference and Mrs. Clancy began her assessment of my progress on the whole tying the shoes, not eating the paste, counting to 12 sort of work we had been doing. My mom quickly cut to the chase, much quicker than I am obviously capable of, and asked her about this whole cow mythos that I had concocted. Mrs. Clancy simply looked at her and said, "Well, he's obviously bored with the whole cookies and milk thing, and wanted to tell you something truly impressive about what we do here."
And now, every Christmas, Thanksgiving, birthday, or Arbor Day, whenever we get together to bbq or deep fry a turkey, someone has to bring up:
"The Cow Story."
Later that week, after the results of my spanking had somewhat subsided, my mom attended the semi-annual parent/teacher conference and Mrs. Clancy began her assessment of my progress on the whole tying the shoes, not eating the paste, counting to 12 sort of work we had been doing. My mom quickly cut to the chase, much quicker than I am obviously capable of, and asked her about this whole cow mythos that I had concocted. Mrs. Clancy simply looked at her and said, "Well, he's obviously bored with the whole cookies and milk thing, and wanted to tell you something truly impressive about what we do here."
And now, every Christmas, Thanksgiving, birthday, or Arbor Day, whenever we get together to bbq or deep fry a turkey, someone has to bring up:
"The Cow Story."
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