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August 15, 2010
"He knows nothing and everything is wonderful."
You can never tell with him.
He never uttered a sound until he was four. Just looked at you with eyes like saucers half-filled with motor oil and you wondered if he was sent to make you nervous forevermore. Then he never stopped talking until his eyes banged shut each evening in a bed laden with bears and talking sponges. To bring him anywhere is to bring Ken Coleman along to murmur about the mundane in a continuous stream, and pass the time contented. -- Sippican Cottage: Dad, How Do You Spell Upponna?
Posted by Vanderleun at August 15, 2010 11:22 AM. This is an entry on the sideblog of American Digest: Check it out.
Your Say
That was a lovely story, told lovingly.
Posted by: Jewel at August 15, 2010 10:13 PM