Franklin recounts his near drowning at my hand. Right. The incident brings to mind when my sister, Natalie, was a sophomore biology student in high school. It used to be that classes would get fertilized chicken eggs, incubate them, and watch them hatch. The problem was, what to do with the chicks? Nat decided, without Mom’s knowledge or approval, to bring one home. Margo was at college, and I was a senior.
Nat kept the chick in a shoebox in the bathroom she shared with Margo. I paid little attention until one day, Nat opened the box and a rooster came out. The last time I had seen the chick, Natalie had it out over a sink full of water. She put the tiny chick in the water. It did nothing. Then my short-tempered little sister said, “SWIM, CHICKEN, SWIM!” I fell down laughing.
When the rooster came out of the shoebox, Mom insisted it was time for the chicken to go. Nat found a teacher who had some land, and ‘donated’ it to him. SWIM, CHICKEN, SWIM! Indeed, Frank. Shades of your late Auntie Natalie.