Shorty the Chicken Finds Temporary Home in City

Several years ago I was a newspaper reporter covering a county fair in a small town near the city where we live.

I didn't have a sitter for my 4-year-old son, Damon, and took him with me that evening. He rode a few rides and played games while I interviewed people about the fair.

During one interview, we stood near a game where participants tossed toss ping pong balls into dishes floating in a kid-sized pool. The prize for landing a ball in a bowl: a baby chicken or a flop-eared bunny.

My son begged me to play but I said "no." I didn't want to take home a live animal from the fair. We lived in a city and didn't have a place to keep chickens or rabbits.

The man I was interviewing grinned at me and told me I should let my son play. Watch the game, he said. I continued the interview while watching a few players toss the white balls. It was obvious the chances of my son landing a ball in a bowl were slim.

My son pleaded again.

The man grinned again.

I relented.

Damon took the ping pong balls - they were three for $1 - and excitedly tossed them at the floating dishes. As expected, every ball he threw bounced away and landed in the water or on the ground.


As we turned away from the game, the woman operating it called me back so she could give Damon his prize. To my astonishment, she placed a peeping yellow chick in a paper bag and asked me if I wanted to buy feed for it. I forked over another dollar. She handed me a small bag of feed.

Unfortunately, I hadn't watched the game closely enough. Turns out the bunnies were for those who landed a ball in a dish. EVERY player received a chick.

Because my son was so delighted with his prize, I didn't have the heart to tell the woman to keep the animal. The chicken went back to the city with us, peeping all the way home while Damon excitedly jabbered.

"I'm going to name him Shorty because he's so short," Damon said, beaming as he held the small paper bag containing the chick. (I can still hear his little boy voice saying that from the back seat of the car!)

Shorty fared well. Within days the chick began sprouting feathers in place of his yellow fuzz and was outgrowing the 10-gallon aquarium that served as its makeshift home.

Damon soon discovered that feeding and watering a chicken and cleaning up its poo wasn't so fun after all. When I suggested Shorty would be happier living on a farm with other farm animals, Damon agreed.


The next day we found a new home in the country for Shorty where he lived happily ever after.

The moral of this story… you tell me!

Letters Home From Boot Camp: Thank You for Reading!

April 19, 2009

Dear Readers,

Thank you for reading and commenting on “Letters Home From Boot Camp.” This is my final addition to the series.

The letters I posted here are nearly all of the letters Tiffany sent home from Fort Jackson, SC, during her Army basic training in 1999. I edited little and left out only a few things I thought my daughter would find too personal to share with the world.

I have always recognized how poignant and well-written Tiffany’s letters home are and intended to “publish” them some day. I didn’t realize, though, that re-reading them would be such an emotional experience; now I know why I kept putting that project off.

To all getting ready to send a loved one to military basic training, I hope Tiffany’s letters bring you inspiration. Know that your loved one will, like my daughter, come home a stronger, more self-confident adult.

After basic, Tiffany went on to AIT at the military language school in Monterey, CA, where she studied Arabic and trained to be an interrogator for nearly a year. She was certified as fluent in Arabic but, fortunately, didn’t do well enough to become an interrogator. I say fortunately because just days after she finished AIT, the terrorist attacks on Sept. 11, 2001, changed our world. Had Tiffany been an interrogator, she surely would have been among those sent to Iraq. Instead, Tiffany spent the rest of her military career at Fort Hood, Texas.

Tiffany is currently a stay-at-home mom living near Washington, DC. She’s the mother of the cutest little boy in the world and I’m a very proud grandma.

Last, but certainly not least, thank you to all who serve or have served our country. I wish you safety and wellness.

Peace,
Susan

Letters Home From Boot Camp: ‘Dear Tiffany… I am proud of you’

April 19, 2009

Dear Tiffany,

As I re-read this week the letters you sent home from boot camp 10 years ago, my heart still aches at knowing what a difficult time that was for you.

The letters also nearly make my heart burst with pride because you had the strength, determination and maturity to stick it out. You clearly learned and gained self-confidence from boot camp, which is exactly what it is designed to do.

I’m sure I haven’t told you this often enough but I am proud of you, not only for making it through boot camp but also for serving your country. I know those four years weren’t easy, especially in 2001 when, just days after you finished AIT, the terrorist attacks on our country took place and in the following months when many of your friends were sent to Iraq.

More important, though, I am proud of the intelligent, independent young woman you are. I admire you for forging and following your own path.

I wish you happiness always.

With all my love,
Mom

PS. I hope you never again have to fire a rifle, launch a grenade, rappel from a tower, kick a soldier’s butt in hand-to-hand combat, run a mile in 11 minutes or stab things with a bayonet.

Letters Home From Boot Camp: ‘The hardest part is facing your fears’

“Dear Mom,

I’m so bored. I’m sitting here waiting for a class on how to wear the uniform I’m half wearing now. (I’m wearing the shirt, collar, cap, black oxfords with panty hose and gray boxers. I think we may be just about ready to start the class. I hope so. We’ve been waiting for our alterations.

I can’t believe I’m wearing this uniform. I thought I’d never make it. All I have to do is three more push-ups and take a couple minutes off my run by next week and I graduate.

I’m going to try. I want you to see me in this uniform.

I’ve really, really gotta pee but there are too many in line.

Well now all I’m waiting on is one skirt and my jacket until I’m done. We have to go on a little stage and get looked at by the drill sergeants to make sure clothes fit right.

They make us hike up our pants just for the fun of it. That’s a drill sergeant for ya.

My period just started and I’m nowhere near the barracks. This is bad when fitting uniforms. But I’ll be ok.

There are people pranking the ones that are asleep.

Everyone wearing shoes, caps, hose and undies look like strippers. It would be worse if we had our heels.

Finally, I’m all done. Now I’m watching for a civilian to give me something to do. Oh boy. It’s like free is time is illegal in the Army. Once I get to AIT I’ll have evenings myself. I probably won’t know what to do with myself. I mean look, I have nothing better to do than draw strippers on tiny stages.

That’s how easy basic training is. The hardest part is facing your fears.

Now I’m on fireguard whoo hoo.

The PA keeps beeping and the drill sergeant’s at the hospital. The thing stopped as I was writing that. He may have come back. I dunno.

I ripped the corner off of the paper because I thought it was a scrap piece. Oops.

They way it looks, since my AIT is so far away, I may get to go home. I’d ship out for Monterey on Friday. But I’m not exactly sure. SSG McCartney might able to tell you though.

I’m really not sure how it works but hope I get to go home. Then I can get some of my clothes for AIT.

I can’t even have my car until after 6 months and I fill out some paperwork and someone picks it up. I can’t think about buying a new car. I think I’d probably get in over my head. I’d like to have a newer car. But so would everyone. You know how bad I am with money. I need to marry an accountant. I’d probably only be able afford a used car anyway.

As far as my car, dad could there wasn’t anything wrong with it. I may just repaint it and buy a set of matching hubcaps, save my money so that I could buy a really nice car (By nice I mean convertible with CD player. BLAH BLAH.)

We got in trouble for sleeping on top of our blankets because we never turn in blankets to be washed but we always turn in sheets. I think it’s funny that they get on to us this late in the cycle. They’re always lecturing about how hygiene is so important but then they don’t provide enough toilet paper to keep us clean.

Which reminds me, I haven't been to see the gynocologist yet. We’ve been doing so much mandatory training that can’t be made up that I haven't had a chance. Drill Sergeant Rogers said the day before Victory Forge is a good day to go. Now I've just got to tell him why I need to go. That should be interesting.

Everyone keeps saying that when we go out for weekends and things we’ll stand at parade rest looking in store windows and say HOOAH all the time or “forty rounds, mom” but I don’t do that on the phone like some people do.

Instead I dream that DS Tavera is yelling at me and I jump out of bed in the middle of the night.

One of the females that talks in her sleep just said something, got half way out of bed, stood there then got back in bed.

Everyone here’s going insane."

(No signature)

Letters Home From Boot Camp: ‘18 days until graduation’

“30Oct99

Dear Mom,

I found another great Dave Barry column. I bet he would be an interesting person to go to dinner with. I wonder where he comes up with this stuff.

Boy, are Sundays nice in BCT. Except that we have to clean the bay and we can’t use the phones right now. Oh well.

Speaking of phones, thanks for the new phone card.

I’m gonna miss Halloween. You’ll have to send pictures of Damon’s costume. Has he decided what going to be yet?

18 days until graduation. 2 days until the final. I just need 2 push-ups and 3 minutes off the run. I can pull it off.

I can’t wait to get out of here. I’m bored with Jackson. Oh well. I can’t believe I made it this far. I made a buddy here who’s also going to Monterey. Hopefully we won’t get separated when we get there.

There really isn’t much to write about right now, think I already told you about the grenades. I write so many letters that I can’t remember. Oh well.

Tiffany”

Letters Home From Boot Camp: ‘Boy, do I hate running’

“29Sep99

I fired an automatic rifle, a grenade launcher and a rifle-mounted grenade launcher today. Boy, do those things kick. I nearly fell over. It was fun.

We ran this morning. I hated it, but we ran two miles in 18.04 minutes. I was like Oh my God! I felt horrible after we stopped. I got a major headache. Boy, do I hate running. Oh well. I have to do it. I wish I could get a waiver for running. I’m getting better though.

I can’t believe the weapons I’ve been using since I arrived. We still have grenades and buddy fire.”

(No signature)

Letters Home From Boot Camp: ‘I did 11 push-ups today’

“Dear Mom,

Please put this money in my savings account. It’s in my checking account. I messed up writing the check the first time and luckily there's a girl here that knows what’s going on and knows what to do about it. Hey, it’s the first check I’ve ever written and I added extra lines on the second one. It’s gonna take me a while to get used to this.

Did you get my card? It was hard to find one at the PX appropriate to send to a mother. I saw something there that I’m going to get before I graduate.

I did 11 push-ups today. I went down and came up and the drill sergeant said “One” and I nearly flipped. I have one week to take off three minutes on my run. I hope I can do it. I’m gonna try. I’ve got someone pestering me about it right now.

Oh well. Graduation is Oct 21 and family day Oct 22. Hopefully everyone can come down. I can be checked out by you and go anywhere on post with you guys at certain times.
And I have to wear my BDUs, so you can see me in uniform. Then on Thursday I’ll be in my other uniform. I hope I can bring you up to the bay and show you the barracks and how neat my locker is.

Tiffany”

Letters Home From Boot Camp: 'I’m doing well with marksmanship'

“19Sep99

Dear Mom,

I LOST MY PHONE CARD!

That was a big phone card.

I got your package. The drill sergeant was like "Now THAT’S a care package! Everyone should get that!” It was funny.

We’re getting ready to start our last phase already.

I’ve been gone almost two months but it feels like I just left home.

I’m doing well with marksmanship. I’m one of 20 people in the entire company that qualified with pop-ups and multiple targets. I was terrified the first time and it was with a fake rifle on a computerized thing. The drill sergeant said that I was a good shot and laughed.

Since we’ve hit white phase the still sergeants slacked off on us and are actually playing around and having fun. BCT isn’t too bad at all I guess. I can’t believe it’s almost over. I still can’t do any push-ups fast enough.

I’d call but I lost my card. I still can’t believe that. I have about 20 minutes on a card but that’s need to last until I get a chance to buy a new one I guess. Oh well. I’ll be in AIT soon and will be able to get a phone line.

Tiffany”

Letters Home From Boot Camp: ‘Dear Mom, I shot a rifle today’

“14Sep99

Dear Mom,

I shot a rifle today. At first it scared the crap out of me but then I relaxed.

The big hurricane is supposed hit here Thursday, but the barracks are all steel.

Your letter arrived today. Everyone thinks the card is just like ha.

Yesterday we were shooting a simulation rifle. I got all nervous and started crying. The people around me told the drill sergeant and I got talked to but it’s a good thing because nervous people are dangerous with a rifle.

The sky is so beautiful here, it turns so many colors and there are so many different types of clouds. Could take pictures but cameras are contraband.

I have a formation now and want to get this letter before the hurricane hits.

Tiffany”

Reading that my daughter is shooting rifles and getting ready for a hurricane was too much. I went shopping and bought enough underwear for her to have a clean pair of panties EVERY DAY until boot camp was finished, tampons, baby wipes, shampoo, soap, toothpaste, phone cards, an inspirational book and other items that wouldn’t be confiscated by those nasty drill sergeants.

Sending stuff was the only way I could reach out to my daughter and help her get through boot camp.

Letters Home From Boot Camp: Yesterday we learned hand-to-hand combat

“12Sep99

I have some time and want to go into more detail on the pugil and the gas chamber we did yesterday. The pugil is a fighting simulation where two people put on protective gear and beat the crap each other with a large padded stick. I won.

The chamber was horrible. We put our masks on and walked in, then we had to pull them up and talk to the drill sergeant and put it back on, then we had to take it all the way off and breath. My skin burned and my chest tightened so much that I stopped breathing. I thought they’d never let us out. It’s the most unpleasant thing I’ve ever experienced.

Yesterday we learned hand-to-hand combat. At first I was paired up with one of the toughest males. I kept deflecting him and he kept asking me if I was ok. Kind of funny. Then we had an actual fist fight. I was with the same woman I pugiled with (who was mad for not winning pugil).

We got in the circle and she went for my face (which is against the rules) and before the sergeant had even blown the whistle. So she was told to step back and we started over. Drill Serpent Rogers blew the whistle and she came at me.

The first thing she tried to do was flip me over but I planted my feet and grabbed her around the waist and started squeezing her. She started pounding on my back around my kidneys but I didn’t feel a thing. I was looking around waiting for something. As far as I know she didn’t do damage.

(No signature)

Letters Home From Boot Camp: ‘I ran an obstacle course with a bayonet and stabbed things’

“10Sep99

Dear Mom,

I have a few minutes so I want to tell you about some of the things I’ve done over the past week.

I beat up another soldier at the pugil event.

I ran an obstacle course with a bayonet and stabbed things.

I ran another obstacle course with tunnels and I went into a gas chamber, took off my mask and walked out.

Would you do me a favor? Send me some underwear (size 6 bikini cut, white cotton) and some shampoo, pay you back (if I ever get paid) and tell Damon thank for the letter and that it made me very happy.

Tiffany”

Who is this kid?

Letters Home From Boot Camp: ‘Hey Mom! Look what I did!’

“07Sep99

Hey Mom! Look what I did! I rappelled down that big wall, pulled myself by the hands on my belly on a one-rope bridge, walked a three-rope bridge, and did the two-bridge. Then after the rope bridges, I swung on a rope and climbed down a cargo net.

Tiffany”

My little Tiffany rappelled off a tower? Walked a rope bridge? Swung on ropes and climbed a cargo net?

This is NOT my daughter!

(I can't find the photo she sent but if I do, I'll add it to this post.)

Letters Home From Boot Camp: ‘He’s a real jerk’

“02Sep99

Dear Mom,

Thanks for the cash and stamps. I’m severely short of free time so it’s hard to write. (It’s 5:07 a.m. right now and I’m pulling fireguard.)

Tell Damon thank you for puzzle and Valentines, they made me a little happier.

I got in trouble yesterday. I fell out of the run and they gave me a counseling statement. The worst part is that the Drill Sergeant lied on it and I can’t prove it and had to sign it. It makes me very angry. That man is gradually loosing more and more of my respect.

I have my voice back but I keep coughing up stuff.

All this running and marching has jacked up my back. If I go to sick call to have it checked out, my drill just may kick me out of the platoon. He’s a real jerk.

When you talk to Nancy and Terry, tell them I got their letter.

I need to go.”

(No signature)

Hang in there, baby girl.

Letters Home From Boot Camp: ‘Ooh man this sucks’

“22Aug99

Dear Mom,

Ooh man this sucks. I just got dropped.

This cold or whatever is really knocking me out. I have no voice, stuffy nose, dizziness, disorientation. All bad. That’s how I got in trouble; I wasn’t all here.

Would you mind mailing me my study Bible? It’s in my desk cubbyhole. I wanted to bring it with me but it wouldn’t fit in my bag.

They gave me a rifle. The drill sergeant handed that thing and I just kinda looked at it. Then we brought them to the bay and took it apart part way. After that, it’s not so scary.

Tiffany

P.S. Could you mail me some stamps? I’m all out and out of money.”


It was impossible to imagine Tiffany with a rifle in hands. Even more impossible to imagine her firing one. She didn’t like loud noises, never had. Even as an infant while asleep, a light switch flipped on would make her jump.

I wondered: “What has Tiffany gotten herself into?”

Letters Home From Boot Camp: ‘I’m in basic training. AAAAAAAAAAH!’

“19Aug99

Dear Mom,

I’m in basic training. AAAAAAAAAAH!

I have a new address and need my checkbook sent ASAP. I don’t have any bills or anything right now but may need it.

I really can’t think of anything to say, I’m a bit flustered and kind of out of it right now. I’ve lost voice so I can’t sound off and it’s driving me nuts.

I’ve barely been here 24 hours. I’ve been put in the Bushmasters, the toughest platoon at C 2/13.

Bushmaster: Big nasty snake.

This is going to be stressful but I signed up and I have no choice.

We’ve only been given a few minutes to write. I have to go.

With Love,
Tiffany”

Big Nasty Snake? Oh my goodness. What’s happening to the little girl who played with Barbie dolls until she was in high school?

Though her grades should have been better, she never failed a class. Even so, I worried. Tiffany was immature and her social skills never quite blossomed. She didn’t have many friends and was picked on by kids at school.

That was one of the reasons I thought joining the military was a good idea. I knew the result could be self-confident adult.

Now I’m having doubts.

Letters Home From Boot Camp: 'Drill Sergeants are Easy to Deal with, Really'

I thought I was ready to send Tiffany off to boot camp. Little did I know...

At that time, I was a newspaper reporter and had just finished a summer-long project covering several stories at Fort Leonard Wood. Among those stories was following a young man through boot camp, so I knew what Tiffany was in for.

What I didn’t expect, though, was just how hard it would be for this mother bird to kick her baby out of the nest.

I bawled half the night before she left.

“08Aug99

Dear Mom,

I have an address now, but I’m not in basic yet.

Once I can pass the run test, I ship out to basic. People are here for a few days and some have been here for up to three months. I hope I won’t be here too long or I’ll miss my hard-start AIT date. If I miss that (Oct 29), then the Army has breached my contract and I have the option of going home or taking a new job. I don’t know which I’ll do yet, it depends on the job I guess.

We just had an incident. The Drill Sergeant just went through and counted everyone to double check our count. One person wasn’t in her bed. (Luckily, I wasn't the one who was counting.) The girl had been here before guard duty shift and wasn’t supposed to be counted. It was kind of scary but I knew I wasn't at fault and the Drill Sergeant wasn’t mad when I didn’t give him the count.

Drill Sergeants are easy to deal with, really. Stand ease, say “Yes/No Drill Sergeant” and do as you’re told. It’s easy until someone else messes it up for the platoon and we get either dropped or smoked. Dropped: go down or get up. Smoked... man I’ve been smoked a couple times. One thing we’ve done (twice) is for late to formation. We start out in either BDUs or shirt and shorts uniform for physical training in formation. Then we’re given about 10 minutes to climb all three flights of stairs, change into the other uniform, back down and be back in formation. Then, if we do it wrong, we go to the other uniform again. Then back and forth, back and forth. It sucks.

Now we have a girl in the shower who’s not supposed to be there and if the Drill Sergeant comes back and she’s in there, we’ll all get in trouble. Oh good, she’s out. Then there was the knocking and I was afraid it was the drill sergeant coming in from behind. It was one of the permanent party’s girlfriends. Scared the crap out of me, though. I’m so tired that I’m babbling. I should go for now.

Tiffany

P.S. If my checks have arrived, I need them ASAP.”


Imagining Tiffany in baggy camouflage BDUs isn’t hard. The girl spent her high school years trying out the popular grunge look, usually a huge sloppy t-shirt, jeans two sizes too large and sneakers. It was the look she chose despite my objections and useless efforts to get her to wear sweaters and cute skirts with pumps. The preppy clothes I bought hung in the closet, or worse, were tossed to the floor of Tiffany’s bedroom, and were never seen in public until they were sold in a garage sale or donated to charity.

The uniform was one thing to visualize but what she was doing in that uniform was another. I had a hard time imagining my daughter in basic training, a soon-to-be-soldier doing push ups, running laps and training to fire a rifle. That’s not my daughter, the couch potato who loved spending hours playing video games and typing away in Internet chat rooms through her high school years.

Tiffany is smart. She scored one of the highest scores her Army recruiter had ever seen on the language aptitude tests. But her lack of effort in high school led her to join the Army instead of going to college right out of high school.

Her step-dad and I, who grew up in poverty and worked hard to climb to middle-class status, told Tiffany we couldn’t pay the college tuition because we couldn’t trust her to go to classes and do the course work. When the Army offered a $40,000 Army College Fund and the GI Bill when she finished her four-year stint in the military, Tiffany signed up. It looked like an easy way to get the cash she would need for school.

Little did she know...

Letters Home From Boot Camp: 'Hi Mom, This Place Really Sucks'

My daughter joined the Army just after she graduated from high school in 1999. I'll never forget her first letter - particularly the first sentence of that letter - mailed from boot camp.

"01Aug99

Hi Mom,

This place really sucks.

We aren’t in basic training yet so I can’t give out an address to mail my checks to or letters or anything.

I was ready to come home the first night.

We (the 63rd platoon) were moved into barracks, and I’ve been to sick call to see a doctor. He just said get some rest and eat some more bread and fruit.

I went to the non-denominational church service this morning and I have a much better attitude toward the situation.

I failed the running part of a test so I go to an extra physical training thing away from my platoon for a while. Once I can run a mile in 11 minutes or less I can go to basic.

I tried to call you at work but the first time you were busy and the second time you had gone home.

The chaplain was talking about his son. It made me think of Damon and I started crying.

I better go. I have a ton more letters to write.

Tiffany "

Tiffany could have - should have - gone to college on scholarships. Her achievement tests placed her in the 95th percentile of other kids her age, and some of her military test scores were the highest her recruiter had ever seen.

But because she didn't apply herself in high school, we didn't feel comfortable investing our meager financial resources in sending her to college and informed her she needed to consider other ways to to pay for higher education. She chose joining the Army and the financial opportunities it offered for education.

A few weeks before Tiffany went to basic training, she had her beautiful, thick, waist-length hair cut off. The stylists at the shop used it to practice dye jobs for weeks.

The result of the hair cut was a cute chin-length bob, shorter than Tiffany had worn her hair since she was in grade school. Back then I made her wear it short because she wouldn’t keep it brushed. Once she began taking care of her hair and was too “grown up” for me to tell her how to wear her locks, she grew it long.

By the time she entered high school, it was long enough for a toss of her head to make her hair swing wide, past her left elbow, then across her back and past her right, a flag waving “look at me” to passersby.

She didn’t even tell me she was getting it cut; just went to the shop and had it done. Tiffany’s lovely long tresses – and the teen years they represented – were whisked away with a few clips.

She had her hair cut off because she knew it would be too much to care of while she was in basic training.

I was stunned.

Future Gymnast or Ballet Dancer

Gymnastics or ballet... who knows? The kid's got talent!

The Carpet Cleaner at Work

We're not sure why Dominic was doing this but it sure was funny. Looks like he would get carpet burn on his head!

Susan Boyle Inspires Me

Susan Boyle's performance on "Britain's Got Talent," is inspiring and a reminder to NEVER judge a person by their appearance or age.

Thank you, Susan, for striving for more and best of luck... from another 47-year-old Susan hoping to achieve her dreams.

Big Mouths Make Me Laugh II

My family is going to kill me for this!

Lakota Native American Dancer Astounds with Hoop Dance

A few months ago I attended a conference in South Dakota where I had the opportunity to see Jasmine, a Lakota Native American, perform this amazing hoop dance. Jasmine's performance was absolutely breathtaking.

Missing the Grandbaby

Really missing the little guy today.

Big Mouths Make Me Laugh

Dominic

Damon

Dominic

Henry at Dickerson Park Zoo

Dominic

Damon


Discovery Center


Mike & Damon


Damon


Moo!


Damon


Damon


Amy, Susan, Gina & Laura


Damon


Stretch at Dickerson Park Zoo

Check out these videos from the zoo.

Life Out of Balance

Dozens, perhaps hundreds, of hours the past six months of my life have gone into researching, setting up, developing, synching and maintaining social networking sites for work.

Not only have I learned an amazing amount of information about social networking and online marketing, the results are pleasing. We gained hundreds of friends, fans, followers, etc.; our blog traffic increased 282 percent from January through March; and our online presence has grown significantly.

Even though I have loved the process - give me a giant puzzle and let me figure it out! - and feel personally enriched by the knowlege I've gained and the results of my efforts, several things happened this week that made me realize the time I'm giving to work vs. time I'm giving to family, friends and myself is seriously out of balance.

From from this point forward, I vow to even the balance.

It's something I have to do. Period.

April Fool's Day Office Prank Earns Kudos

My career has led me to a great group of people who work hard and like to have fun, especially on April Fool’s Day.

The target of the big office joke this year was me and I fell for it hook, line and sinker.

GULP!

Just before lunch, Amy told me her husband got a job in another city and they’re moving. I asked her if it was a joke and she said it was not. She was so sincere, I believed her.

I like Amy and our department is a great team. The thought of her leaving and our department changing brought tears to my eyes.

Lucky for the pranksters, this was a busy day and I didn't have time to think much about Amy's news and that it might be a joke.

During the drive back to the office after a lunch meeting, Laura and Amy assured me Amy's news was not a joke.

A couple hours after lunch, Gina came into my office, shut the door and sat down in the chair next to my desk. She was upset. Work is too stressful. She can’t keep up. She’s thinking about leaving.

“If I’m not good at this, maybe I should move on,” she said.

Gina is my pal and I hate to see her unhappy, and keep in mind I still thought Amy was leaving. If Gina left, too, that meant I was losing two office friends and an even bigger change was in store for our cohesive department. Also, Laura is expecting a baby - it's a boy! - in August, which meant I would have several weeks in the fall with two new co-workers and no boss.

I nearly cried again.

Gina couldn’t take my tears and clued me in on the joke.

I pretended, of course, to be mad, called them names and told them I’d get even.

The truth is, I’m proud of them. I’m the office prankster so for them to do such a good job of pulling a prank on me gets kudos. I'm also pleased they like me well enough to pull a joke on me.

Amy, Laura, Gina… that was a good one! I hope you had a great day and enjoyed your prank.

Amy

Laura

Gina