The Little Years
It’s 1949 and here I am with my parents, Ralph and Myrtle at my first home. In a couple of years the stork would bring my brother Martin for me to play with. Brother Paul and sister Michelle would follow. Happy times!
We lived in a tough neighbourhood though, so my dad decided that I should learn something called ‘the sweet science,’ or boxing as most people called it. I was ready to take on any bad guys that crossed me.
Like this guy…he never stood a chance. I’m a rough, tough creampuff.
Boxing really makes a guy hungry so Mum fills me up with steak and pasta. (pablum)
After dinner my Dad wants to have a drink to celebrate. He has beer, I have milk. One day I will have a beer too.
Down the hatch…
Ya Baby…..
Next I want to take my ‘bird’ out for a drive. That’s what the English call a girl. I must say she is a little bit Daffy.
Oh dear, car trouble. They haven’t thought of cell phones yet for me to call a tow truck.
Well, Daffy got tired of waiting and flew the coop. Women…they’re enough to drive a man to drink.
It’s been a long day, nothing like Mum reading me a bedtime storey. Sweet dreams ahead.
What’s this? I’m dreaming of this cute little girl that looks really familiar. Oh well, tomorrow is other day. Night, night.
