Charles Fitzpatrick

King Condor

It started with the Goose. Everyone knew the Goose, even if you only knew of her in passing. My siblings and I didn't personally know her that well. Though I visited more than a little and less than a lot, I was younger and she was an older woman with a lot of fowl. But the stories provided my prologue. Aunt Goose - my great aunt, the partially self-proclaimed, partially recognized family matriarch - lived by her own rules. The family called her Goose because they joked that she quacked too much and was foul-mouthed. She spoke loudly, laughed loudly, argued loudly, loved loudly, handled business LOUDLY. That point was evident- and the fact her story was reminiscent of the nursery rhyme Mother Goose. Many believed that she had so many children that she didn't know what to do. She birthed twenty children, with thirteen living until adulthood. Maybe she didn't know at first. The loss of a child is hard to bear for any mother and sometimes she seemed to go elsewhere. Maybe nowhere. But maybe it inspired her to be the best mom she could be for the rest of her children and for me. And that she did.