Fat Mustard

Fat mustard in a jar. You can’t fit it in your car. Joe was about three years old when he made up this little ditty. It thoroughly amused him for a couple of days.

He was my constant companion back then.  A little chatterbox, ever mindful of his surroundings.  I’d be talking on the phone and he’d interject from the other room where he was busy with his toys. How did he hear from the other room, and how at his age, did he understand grown-up speak?  He was delightful and beautiful and I think he was born with a bit of an old man in him.  We’d often walk by the river on “treasure hunts”, filling our pockets with special rocks and shells. We’d eat the wild blackberries and pick the wildflowers.

He’s forty something now. Still delightful and beautiful and much closer to that inner old man. But sometimes I miss that little guy.

3 thoughts on “Fat Mustard

  1. Christine

    Joe’s first song when he was just learning to talk, probably a little over a year old, was originally by Joe Walsh,
    “ My Maserati does 185
    I lost my license, now I don’t drive.”

    He sang it with an unintelligible British accent and a lot of heart.

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