How we hear what is said, or, wicked giraffes -- jcarolek

My father tells the story of how he came to fear giraffes. Now, understand, he was raised during those early years in a three room house on Long Pond in New Bedford, MA. Giraffes were NOT running amuck in those parts, even in the 1930’s.

So one night, Dad, then a little boy, dealing with a cold of some nature, was tucked into bed by his mother. As she left his room, closing the door behind her, she commented to my grandpa, “I’m worried about Brucie…there’s a wicked draft in that room.”

My father, scared to budge from his bed, lest that wicked giraffe get him, still tells the story…I think he was about three at the time….every year, at least one family member gives him something “giraffe” oriented to decorate his house. A casual visitor might think Dad loved giraffes…if they only knew!