The title of this story is actually a "short story" written by Ernest Hemingway (more at wikipedia). When you first read it, you are struck with a deep sense of tragedy. It really is a quite powerful line. And then, it occurred to me, there may be more to the story...
"Congratulations Mr. Jackson, it's a boy."
The nurse handed the crying bundle to Bob Jackson. He grunted a little, surprised at the heft of his newborn son.
"Got a little football player here hon," he called to his wife Gillian. She gave him an exhausted smile.
The boy had a shock of wild black hair and when he briefly opened his eyes Bob glimpsed deep brown orbs. He was a little disappointed. He hoped his children would inherit his red hair and blue eyes or Gillian's fair hair and green eyes.
The nurse peaked over his shoulder, "He looks just like..." she looked from the baby's face to Bob's. "Um, he looks just like his..." she turned and Looked at Gillian."Errr, well, kind of like, there's some resemblance, you know, I really need to check that drip..." The nurse hurried away.
"Let me hold him," Gillian reached out to Bob. As he handed his son over, the bundle twisted and squirmed and a foot the size of Bob's hand kicked free of the swaddling.
"Good lord, he's part jack rabbit!" he exclaimed. Now he understood the doctor's muttered comment, 'Usually the head is the tricky part.'
Gillian quickly covered the baby's foot. "Oh Bob, don't be silly."
"Well, there's no way the baby shoes we bought are going to fit. We're going to have to sell them."
"Bob, you're overreact-"
Gillian was interrupted by a nurse. "Excuse me, there's a Mr. Foot insisting on seeing you. He says he's family. I can send him away if you..."
The tallest man Bob had ever seen ducked in through the door. His wild, shaggy black beard hid three-quarters of his face, with a set of brown eyes peering out from the thicket. Tufts of hair spouted out from between the buttons of Foot's long trench coat and then Bob spotted the size 18 feet, completely bare despite the hospital's many signs requiring shoes.
"Gillian, who is this?" Bob asked.
"It's Mr. Foot, the, um, gardener," Gillian replied.
"We don't have a gardener."
"Oh, right, I meant to say, um, tree trimmer?"
Bob shook his head.
Gillian sighed, "You know, Bob, it's been a long day and I'm a little tired. Why don't you just tell me who you think he is."
Just then the baby kicked his foot free and waved it in the air. Mister Foot straightened up and grinned proudly. The truth dawned on Bob.
"Well, I hope it was worth it, Gillian!" he yelled.
Gillian shrugged. "Well, you know what they say about men with large feet."
Mister Foot's grin grew even larger.
THE END Copyright 2013 John M Lance
"Congratulations Mr. Jackson, it's a boy."
The nurse handed the crying bundle to Bob Jackson. He grunted a little, surprised at the heft of his newborn son.
"Got a little football player here hon," he called to his wife Gillian. She gave him an exhausted smile.
The boy had a shock of wild black hair and when he briefly opened his eyes Bob glimpsed deep brown orbs. He was a little disappointed. He hoped his children would inherit his red hair and blue eyes or Gillian's fair hair and green eyes.
The nurse peaked over his shoulder, "He looks just like..." she looked from the baby's face to Bob's. "Um, he looks just like his..." she turned and Looked at Gillian."Errr, well, kind of like, there's some resemblance, you know, I really need to check that drip..." The nurse hurried away.
"Let me hold him," Gillian reached out to Bob. As he handed his son over, the bundle twisted and squirmed and a foot the size of Bob's hand kicked free of the swaddling.
"Good lord, he's part jack rabbit!" he exclaimed. Now he understood the doctor's muttered comment, 'Usually the head is the tricky part.'
Gillian quickly covered the baby's foot. "Oh Bob, don't be silly."
"Well, there's no way the baby shoes we bought are going to fit. We're going to have to sell them."
"Bob, you're overreact-"
Gillian was interrupted by a nurse. "Excuse me, there's a Mr. Foot insisting on seeing you. He says he's family. I can send him away if you..."
The tallest man Bob had ever seen ducked in through the door. His wild, shaggy black beard hid three-quarters of his face, with a set of brown eyes peering out from the thicket. Tufts of hair spouted out from between the buttons of Foot's long trench coat and then Bob spotted the size 18 feet, completely bare despite the hospital's many signs requiring shoes.
"Gillian, who is this?" Bob asked.
"It's Mr. Foot, the, um, gardener," Gillian replied.
"We don't have a gardener."
"Oh, right, I meant to say, um, tree trimmer?"
Bob shook his head.
Gillian sighed, "You know, Bob, it's been a long day and I'm a little tired. Why don't you just tell me who you think he is."
Just then the baby kicked his foot free and waved it in the air. Mister Foot straightened up and grinned proudly. The truth dawned on Bob.
"Well, I hope it was worth it, Gillian!" he yelled.
Gillian shrugged. "Well, you know what they say about men with large feet."
Mister Foot's grin grew even larger.
THE END Copyright 2013 John M Lance
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