Speaking of strange... did I ever tell you guys the story of Odd, O.D.D.?
Well, it goes like this. First of all, though, I need to repeat that I just like to write. I'm a hack. I suspect now that if I could not write and did not have this blog to let the words out, I may as well just pack it in and go ahead and die.
Every now and then I just like to re-tell, repeat a story that I've picked up along the way for those of you who may have missed it. Again, I did not write the following story. Or, maybe I should say that it didn’t originate with me. I only remembered what was told to me and wrote it down.
But this may be the most amazing little short piece that I’ve ever heard. To be honest I picked up the story of “Odd” from a good friend of mine and even though I have searched long and hard for wonderful and unique stories to share, I have never been able to top this one brief story. I have used it in some speaking engagements (in another lifetime) for years and never has it let me down. I hope that you enjoy it.
There was once a man by the name of “Odd.” I suspect by the unusual name that he may have lived in the South but I do not know that for sure. Southerners are sometimes known for bestowing sometimes “different” or unique names to their children, such as “Santa” or “Sparrow,” or “Moon,” or "Precious," for instance.
Anyway, this fellow's name was “Odd.” He was given the name at birth by his parents. No one really knows why he was given that name – he may have been a bit “odd” looking – or he may have had an usual characteristic or mannerism? No one knew. But Odd just hated that name. In fact, he despised it. Kids picked on him and made fun of his name. He grew up so loathing the name so that he vowed that once he got to be an adult, that he’d never be called by that name again.
And, sure enough, Odd grew up to become a young man. In the course of life, he actually courted and married his childhood sweetheart. But he had one request of his young darling: that she never use his real name or ever, ever have it used — even if he were to die. He didn’t want it on his tombstone. He didn’t want to ever be known by that name. He never, ever wanted to be remembered by the name of Odd. His wife complied and agreed to his request and they lived that way all his life.
But, sure enough one day Odd died. Odd fell ill and passed away. And upon his death, as his wife had faithfully promised, she buried Odd in the family plot at a nearby cemetery. She had a simple plain gravestone set over his grave with no markings at all on the tombstone. The stone was completely blank. All was well and good. Odd rested in peace with his blank headstone.
But as it happened, Odd’s wife eventually passed away and she, too, was laid to rest in their personal plot in the cemetery beside her husband. Friends and family who buried her had a nice tombstone erected over her grave-site with all the normal, usual inscriptions: name, dob, dod, etc.
And at her funeral, as folks passed by the grave-site to pay their final respects, people would file by to view her grave and read her inscription and then look over and point at the adjacent blank gravestone and remark, “That’s odd. . .”
Well, it goes like this. First of all, though, I need to repeat that I just like to write. I'm a hack. I suspect now that if I could not write and did not have this blog to let the words out, I may as well just pack it in and go ahead and die.
Every now and then I just like to re-tell, repeat a story that I've picked up along the way for those of you who may have missed it. Again, I did not write the following story. Or, maybe I should say that it didn’t originate with me. I only remembered what was told to me and wrote it down.
But this may be the most amazing little short piece that I’ve ever heard. To be honest I picked up the story of “Odd” from a good friend of mine and even though I have searched long and hard for wonderful and unique stories to share, I have never been able to top this one brief story. I have used it in some speaking engagements (in another lifetime) for years and never has it let me down. I hope that you enjoy it.
There was once a man by the name of “Odd.” I suspect by the unusual name that he may have lived in the South but I do not know that for sure. Southerners are sometimes known for bestowing sometimes “different” or unique names to their children, such as “Santa” or “Sparrow,” or “Moon,” or "Precious," for instance.
Anyway, this fellow's name was “Odd.” He was given the name at birth by his parents. No one really knows why he was given that name – he may have been a bit “odd” looking – or he may have had an usual characteristic or mannerism? No one knew. But Odd just hated that name. In fact, he despised it. Kids picked on him and made fun of his name. He grew up so loathing the name so that he vowed that once he got to be an adult, that he’d never be called by that name again.
And, sure enough, Odd grew up to become a young man. In the course of life, he actually courted and married his childhood sweetheart. But he had one request of his young darling: that she never use his real name or ever, ever have it used — even if he were to die. He didn’t want it on his tombstone. He didn’t want to ever be known by that name. He never, ever wanted to be remembered by the name of Odd. His wife complied and agreed to his request and they lived that way all his life.
But, sure enough one day Odd died. Odd fell ill and passed away. And upon his death, as his wife had faithfully promised, she buried Odd in the family plot at a nearby cemetery. She had a simple plain gravestone set over his grave with no markings at all on the tombstone. The stone was completely blank. All was well and good. Odd rested in peace with his blank headstone.
But as it happened, Odd’s wife eventually passed away and she, too, was laid to rest in their personal plot in the cemetery beside her husband. Friends and family who buried her had a nice tombstone erected over her grave-site with all the normal, usual inscriptions: name, dob, dod, etc.
And at her funeral, as folks passed by the grave-site to pay their final respects, people would file by to view her grave and read her inscription and then look over and point at the adjacent blank gravestone and remark, “That’s odd. . .”
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