Yet Another Meme -- Day 1
Mar. 19th, 2011 12:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
la_samtyrContinued from yesterday's post:
**Become gainfully employed:
I think it was about age three. Yes, *three*. I was a working child, for real. And now for the rest of the story...
One of my first words -- in addition to "book", "read", "doggie" and "kitty" -- was "pony/horsie". And being a spoiled little brat, er, make that 'a very determined child' -- I kept pestering my folks for a horse. Finally Dad had had enough, and he said that I could have a horse as soon as I earned enough money for one.
Now Dad thought (foolish, foolish man) that it would be another decade or so before I could earn any serious amount of money for a horse, and hopefully I would have outgrown the whole idea of having/wanting a horse by then.
Faced with such an insurmountable obstacle, I did the only thing I knew -- I told all of my troubles to my Grandpa Phil.
For the record: No, Grandpa Phil *did not* buy me a pony.
Grandpa believed in playing by the rules; the rule(s) being that I had to earn the money. But Grandpa couldn't resist playing a trick on his youngest son, and there was no rule about me getting outside help.
Now Grandpa, who was semi-retired from farming, still lived on the farm and kept a few milk cows and chickens. And a lot of his friends were also semi-retired farmers who still lived on the farm and also kept a few critters around, just because. And there was nothing but *nothing* they loved better than being in on a really good joke.
And lo, a few days later, these lovely, wonderful old gentlemen (I am sure my dad had another phrase for them) came and built me a small pen and a shed, and I was soon in the business of raising orphan lambs supplied by Grandpa's friends, with fresh milk supplied by Grandpa -- with a neat little sideline of raising chickens and selling their eggs -- what would now be known as free-range, organic chickens and eggs but back then were just plain backyard chickens. (No, we did not live on the farm. Grandpa Phil did. We lived in a very small, very rural town, at the very edge which meant our backyard was quite literally two steps away from 40 acres of dryland corn. Yes, it was -- and still is -- that rural. And the city/county zoning laws [then, not now] were very lax: i.e., practically non-existent. Yes, really.)
To make a long story short... by the time I was four, I had enough money saved up for a pony...
**Become gainfully employed:
I think it was about age three. Yes, *three*. I was a working child, for real. And now for the rest of the story...
One of my first words -- in addition to "book", "read", "doggie" and "kitty" -- was "pony/horsie". And being a spoiled little brat, er, make that 'a very determined child' -- I kept pestering my folks for a horse. Finally Dad had had enough, and he said that I could have a horse as soon as I earned enough money for one.
Now Dad thought (foolish, foolish man) that it would be another decade or so before I could earn any serious amount of money for a horse, and hopefully I would have outgrown the whole idea of having/wanting a horse by then.
Faced with such an insurmountable obstacle, I did the only thing I knew -- I told all of my troubles to my Grandpa Phil.
For the record: No, Grandpa Phil *did not* buy me a pony.
Grandpa believed in playing by the rules; the rule(s) being that I had to earn the money. But Grandpa couldn't resist playing a trick on his youngest son, and there was no rule about me getting outside help.
Now Grandpa, who was semi-retired from farming, still lived on the farm and kept a few milk cows and chickens. And a lot of his friends were also semi-retired farmers who still lived on the farm and also kept a few critters around, just because. And there was nothing but *nothing* they loved better than being in on a really good joke.
And lo, a few days later, these lovely, wonderful old gentlemen (I am sure my dad had another phrase for them) came and built me a small pen and a shed, and I was soon in the business of raising orphan lambs supplied by Grandpa's friends, with fresh milk supplied by Grandpa -- with a neat little sideline of raising chickens and selling their eggs -- what would now be known as free-range, organic chickens and eggs but back then were just plain backyard chickens. (No, we did not live on the farm. Grandpa Phil did. We lived in a very small, very rural town, at the very edge which meant our backyard was quite literally two steps away from 40 acres of dryland corn. Yes, it was -- and still is -- that rural. And the city/county zoning laws [then, not now] were very lax: i.e., practically non-existent. Yes, really.)
To make a long story short... by the time I was four, I had enough money saved up for a pony...
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