y.i.b.

I'm gonna tell you a story. Most likely won't translate well in text but givin' it a try.

Years ago, one of my prized piano students, a young man, shared with me a cute little something he had undoubtedly learned at school that day. On a piece of borrowed paper he wrote:

M R Ducks.
M R Not Ducks.
M R 2.
CDEDBD Wings?
YIB.
M R Ducks.

Elementary or not, I didn't get it at first and assumed he had not practiced and was buying time. He then read it to me (clarifying by saying M R and not "mister") and I laughed. I can't explain it, but I have laughed at it ever since. At some point along the way I added a country accent, which in my opinion makes all the difference in the world, and shared it with my parents since that's what I did with just about every silly little thing in my life.

Fast forward to 1997. I'm walking the shore of Lake Michigan with my father. We were diverting our attentions from the chemo he was undergoing in Zion by some simple sightseeing. We're standing there looking out at this long wharf in the Waukegan marina and my father says:

YIB.
M R Ducks.

I looked to see what he was talking about. I squinted. I clarified. I disagreed.

M R Not Ducks.

M R 2.

Where dad? There? He points.

M R Not Ducks.

M R 2.

I'm laughing now.

M R Not Ducks dad.
There are no EDBD Wings.
M R posts.

YIB.
M R posts.

If only in my memory, that was one of the funniest moments of my life. I. miss. that. man.

*How I got there: I heard birds outside my window in the den. And thought...YIB...