And he still can’t stop his leg. My parents took us to see him in the early 70’s when he was doing much of his fifties stuff. They were stories of being a kid. The kid who dropped the flag and kissed the tassels, the homogenized milk where he saw the word “homo” and wondered what was going on.
Mr. Klein, comic, actor, rocked my world when I was still a kid, in Washington D.C. He was opening for Ms. “Delta Dawn” and I could google her name but he was all I remember. We got an album and my sister and l laughed with him for years.
We must have missed many “adult” references at the time but parents telling kids when they could swim? Thirty minutes. Jello. Ten minutes. Franks and beans, you’re going down to Davey Jones’ locker. Those are his thoughts, not his words.
He taught me, along with Dad, that I could be the smart kid. Later in life I could write legislation that affected 34 million people. As I aged I could write about experiences, food and opinions. I no longer sat in the back of the class being shy. Now I’ve a blog and let my opinions be known, at least when my husband can get my new computer. monitor, printer and keyboard to play well together in the sandbox. I take care of everything else. He’s a physicist/software engineer so takes care of electronics.
Thank you, Mr. Klein, for opening my eyes to opportunities. To Dad for opening my mind to simple things like learning to lick an ice cream cone, fair play with neighbors in two-base baseball where we carried babies and they purposely fumbled the ball, he died over the holidays. He introduced me to the wild wacky world of yours and I am able to tell stories. Cheers! Dee