Bear Stories has become the family code phrase for any story told by my Dad. (Usually this involves putting his chair in the way back position, and the cracking of some knuckles). There might also be a fraternity brother, a canoe or a World War involved, too.
Bear Story he told me last night....
I was three years old, we're living in Yellowstone National Park, up in the backcountry. My brother, who is two years older than me, sees a bear cub scratching against the split rail fence that borders the cabin. He thinks that petting that bear cub might be a good idea. My mother screams, drops me on my head, (yeah, apparently that is what's wrong with me, she dropped me on my head), runs to scoop up my brother, as we all know that where there is a bear cub, Momma bear cannot be far behind.
I wish I remebered this.
Tell me your Bear Stories.
*edited for spelling*
Bear Story he told me last night....
I was three years old, we're living in Yellowstone National Park, up in the backcountry. My brother, who is two years older than me, sees a bear cub scratching against the split rail fence that borders the cabin. He thinks that petting that bear cub might be a good idea. My mother screams, drops me on my head, (yeah, apparently that is what's wrong with me, she dropped me on my head), runs to scoop up my brother, as we all know that where there is a bear cub, Momma bear cannot be far behind.
I wish I remebered this.
Tell me your Bear Stories.
*edited for spelling*
