Mr. Baterman sat there while a news story aired on his television set. It was about the hippie movement in the Haight-Ashbury district of San Francisco. He clutched an antique monkey paw while he thought about his son Tim serving in Vietnam. It had been weeks since he and his wife had not gotten a letter from him. He had no idea where his son was and then made a wish while he rubbed the monkey's paw.
''I wish my son would come home.''
The paw was given to him by an old man. One who told him anyone who had it was allowed three wishes. Yet those same three wishes came with a price. The old man told him he should be careful what he wished for. He thought about this one long and hard, he did not care what the price was. Tim just needed to came home where belong. He heard the phone ring and he got the call every parent dreaded hearing.
''Mr. Baterman, your son has been killed in Vietnam.''
He dropped the phone and tears ran down his face. Mr. Baterman did not know what kind of government would send his son to die on a battlefield. For a war America had no business fighting in to begin with. There was no way he cold make sense out of it. He went back to his arm chair with more tears streaming down his face. Mr. Baterman had no idea how he would break the news to his wife. It was something he was almost afraid to tell her.
On the day of Tim's funeral, Mr. Baterman sat there with his wife. A picture of Tim in uniform next to the American flag stood in front of his casket. Itself draped in the American flag, he thought was beautiful the way the service was setup. Then he gave his wife the handkerchief out of his breast pocket to dry her tears. Looking down at his own hand, he held the object that could make miracles happen. He brought the monkey's paw to his son's funeral.
He made the wish to being his son home, yet making the wish brought him home in a box. Mr. Baterman was not sure if his son was indeed a casualty of war. Or whether he caused it because of the wish he made. He was now aware of the dangers over what the old man tried to tell him. Every wish he made came with a price. He made one, but had two left. Mr. Baterman had no idea whether not he should make the other two or not.
''I wish my son would come home.''
The paw was given to him by an old man. One who told him anyone who had it was allowed three wishes. Yet those same three wishes came with a price. The old man told him he should be careful what he wished for. He thought about this one long and hard, he did not care what the price was. Tim just needed to came home where belong. He heard the phone ring and he got the call every parent dreaded hearing.
''Mr. Baterman, your son has been killed in Vietnam.''
He dropped the phone and tears ran down his face. Mr. Baterman did not know what kind of government would send his son to die on a battlefield. For a war America had no business fighting in to begin with. There was no way he cold make sense out of it. He went back to his arm chair with more tears streaming down his face. Mr. Baterman had no idea how he would break the news to his wife. It was something he was almost afraid to tell her.
On the day of Tim's funeral, Mr. Baterman sat there with his wife. A picture of Tim in uniform next to the American flag stood in front of his casket. Itself draped in the American flag, he thought was beautiful the way the service was setup. Then he gave his wife the handkerchief out of his breast pocket to dry her tears. Looking down at his own hand, he held the object that could make miracles happen. He brought the monkey's paw to his son's funeral.
He made the wish to being his son home, yet making the wish brought him home in a box. Mr. Baterman was not sure if his son was indeed a casualty of war. Or whether he caused it because of the wish he made. He was now aware of the dangers over what the old man tried to tell him. Every wish he made came with a price. He made one, but had two left. Mr. Baterman had no idea whether not he should make the other two or not.
Comments
Lyn Morgan
(Guest)
(Guest)
09/14/2009
Excellent twist to an old story. I like the irony and the imagination.
Comment 1 (of 1)
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