for us, it’s easy to like chicken…our chicken marsala, that is. we made him up; he is the (mutual) son we didn’t have together. and so, he’s a jeans-wearing-black-shirts-mostly-flip-flop little boy. he takes after david with his esoteric wisdom and me with his high forehead and sentimentality. he has much more brevity than either of us, but he’s little, so give him time.
it’s easy for us to be invested in chicken’s antics, to laugh aloud at his shenanigans, to get a little misty at his emotional ties. but we have driven across the country with david making up his little voice in the backseat; we have taken a three foot tall flat-chicken into welcome centers and family gatherings; we have taken pictures of our chicken at the colorado border and hanging out in the back of the xb.
and so, it’s easy for us to believe that chicken marsala would have an instant following – an ever-growing group of people who believe in him kind of like how they believed in charlie brown or calvin (well, maybe a teeny little bit like charlie brown or calvin.) because we do. we believe in him. his snippets of wisdom, his goodness, his take on life. i realize that, like any story, it’s possible that maybe it is hard to start in the middle. (i am the worst at starting in the middle of any movie – i ask a million questions trying to catch up…)
so i just want to say this: if you had a chance to have a little boy in your life, one whose wise words entered your heart and whose voice countered the narrative so prevalent in our world now, and, even if he was, ok, make-believe, wouldn’t you just love it to be a little boy like our Chicken? this nugget is for you. play. with abandon. like a little make-believe boy. like there’s no tomorrow.
play like there’s no tomorrow tomorrow tomorrow ©️ 2016 david robinson & kerri sherwood