Sunday, March 12, 2006

A Deer Story for Rory

March 12 is definitely one of those bittersweet days. First, it reminds us that every year for 49 years, we sent cards or made calls to wish Mother and Harold a happy anniversary. They were married March 12, 1954, in Thompson Falls, Montana. While they were on their honeymoon, Mike and Kevin stayed at the Bests down the road, while I stayed with Helen Crockett in town.

For the boys, it meant watching Clarence head off to the barn, morning and night, to milk his Holsteins. It also meant watching wild wrestling matches on the Best's TV set while Clarence and his wife cheered on their favorites like Gorgeous George. For me, it meant a trip to Bonners Ferry where Helen's daughter Sally was cheering at a basketball game. I also remember the hamburger with too much catsup at the restaurant after the game. And, of course, I can't forget the paper dolls Helen bought for me so I could teach my left hand to cut in a straight line.

When Mother and Harold came home, we heard about the hundreds of deer they'd seen along the Montana highways and the binoculars they'd left in some motel room. They must've liked seeing those deer because it created a life's pastime for all of us who still want to be the first one to holler, "There's a deer," even 50-plus years later.

We helped Mother and Harold celebrate their anniversary until 2003, but not for a 50th time. Instead, a bunch of us got together and took Mother to dinner at the Elks Club. Harold died before they could enjoy their Golden celebration. This year, it would be 52 years.

Today, however, there's room for celebration, and, in this case, it's 4 years. Yup, that's how old Mr. Rory is. Rory lives in Tacoma; he's one of Mother's great-grandchildren and one of Mike and Mary's grandchildren. He's also a cousin, nephew and grandnephew to many of us. Rory's a cool, lanky dude with white blond hair, big brown eyes and a wonderful smile.

I don't know if Rory's been taught to look for the deer yet, but since he shares his birthday with his great-grandparents' anniversary, maybe that would be a neat thing for him to learn. It would certainly perpetuate a this tradition that's been such an integral part of this family's fabric for so long.

And, then maybe every time, for the rest of his long life, whenever he's in a car and spots a deer before anyone else, he could yell, "There's a deer, and that one's for you, Grandpa Harold!"

Happy Birthday, Rory.

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