In preparation for my first duck hunt since I was a kid, I’ve been doing a little target practice. This unlucky clay was decimated as you can see. I should feel guilty because this clay was innocent, but I’m not. I’m proud actually. Happy and proud!
So I met this old fella who told me his name was Curly. I asked him how he came about having that nickname. He told me he was born on the steps of St. Vincent’s hospital, and because of the strange circumstances of his birth, the newspaper came to write a story about him. The reporter interviewed his Grandmother for the story, and she told him that the boy’s name was Larry (because that’s the name she liked). His Momma ended up naming him Charles though. He had Polio as a infant and was in quarantine for 18 months! When he came out of quarantine, his brother wrapped up his hair in tiny little curls, and the name Curly stuck with him ever since. Curly made my day!