It was about fifty-nine years ago. A star appeared in the night sky over the Midwest. It’s light was so bright, that people in surrounding states came out on their balconies, entered their backyards, stood on the front porch and gazed upward in awe.
Cattle and sheep, goats and pigs, horses and even pets stared at the wondrous star and pondered in their minds what man had wrought.
NORAD was alerted and fighter planes scrambled, looking for evil communist bombers on their radar screens.
But lo, wise farmers from the surrounding acres made way to the hospital nestled in the community of Manchester, Iowa, o’er which the grand star stood. They came hoping that this was the one, the savior bearing federal farm subsidies to sustain them and their families.
They sought out the child, and found him, with his parents, Betty and Paul, swaddled in farm functional clothing.
The young babe squalled and fussed and the parents clucked gently. “He’s a fussy one.”
“Why I dare say, he seemed to shake his fist at me the first time I laid eyes on him,” said Paul, his dad as he shook his head. “I’m going to lay hard on the boy I fear.”
“Oh no you don’t,” crooned Mother Betty, “he’s a thinker, can’t you see that?” “He best think good, given those scrawny limbs,” murmured the less than convinced dad.
No matter, the wise farmers came bearing gifts. That lit up dad, hoping for cake or maybe some cherry pie. The wise farmers quietly stood at the foot of the bed and each stepped forward and gently laid their gifts before the King.
“Dang,” Paul fumed, nothin’ but corn, soybeans and hogs. I got plenty of that. I was hoping for dessert.” “Shhh,” Betty cautioned, ” those are fine gifts, Paul, don’t look a gift horse. . . ”
Speaking of which, a nurse ran by the door way, “Lordy, lord, there are cattle lowing in the x-ray lab, and sheep milling around the ICU.” Who is responsible for all this?
And the little King screamed with fully functioning lungs. “WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!”
Meanwhile, outside crowds assembled. We want to see the child!!!! We have come to tickle him under the chin and rub his head for good luck!
Hearing that, the Gov’ment feared the child, the family spirited the young babe off to a place called Troy Mills, just outside of Egypt. There he grew in learning and wisdom.
His parents were astounded that he always claimed to know more than them, yet could never drive a straight furrow or use an implement without breaking it. His father could often be seen in the fields throwing his cap off in disgust and jumping up and down upon it.
His older brother, Gary, never thought much about him being King of anything, and never bowed to him once, ever. The wise men checked in periodically about those farm subsidies, but the savior boy seemed too pre-0ccupied with eating and his pony to ever answer them.
He was fondly remembered in his youth for playing some good poker and having a unique record in his basketball high school career, of three points. He did poorly in his studies, always reading a book instead of doin’ his cipherin’.
The piglets grew up of course and were slaughtered and put in the freezer and et. The soybeans were trampled in the flight to Troy Mills in Egypt land. The corn, well, Betty cooked it one night, but it was tough and they threw it out to the piglets who oinked in pleasure.
The gov’ment found him finally and being still suspicious that he was a Soviet spy, sent him off to a war in a far off land in the East. He met no wise men there, but became wise enough to come home alive. He’s never been fond of that gov’ment since then.
He ponders all these things in his heart today and his sits with his remote every at the ready. Old men still recall the day that star burst forth and when they all loaded up the tractors and made off for Manchester. Some have pictures of it still.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY PARKER, AKA “THE CONTRARIAN”