A long time ago there lived a man named Patrick. This was not the same Patrick that you knew and certainly not one that anyone could predict. He was a whimsical clown of a fellow. His clothes were always too big and he scurried about everywhere he went like he was in a hurry. When he spoke to people he would always fumble with his words and ask if they got the point before he was ever finished. Whenever he felt like the people around him were quiet or sad he would pull out his French harp and start to play a little tune. His wife and child adored him for everything he was and the folk in his town seemed to brighten up in his presence. He was a friend to all.
Patrick was also the sort of person to try and resolve a conflict between two people that were fighting. His neighbors would be tossing their fists around and he would run up in the middle with his arms out. They never really understood what Patrick was trying to tell them but by the time he had stopped and looked at them they couldn't remember what they were even fighting about. He could be assertive and raise his voice if he felt the situation called for it but most of his own fits ended with him dipping his head and letting out a sigh of "Oh, dear."
On one particularly lovely evening out with his wife a terrible tragedy had shook the town. Patrick and his wife were walking home from their date. They were still in town and had not even passed the corner drug store 4 blocks from where they lived. Another man was headed in their direction driving a car. This other man didn't know much about motorized vehicles and didn't keep his in a well working condition. His car was sputtering and clanking driving down the road until it coughed real hard and his steering wheel jerked to the side and broke free from his grasp. The driver tried to halt the car with the brakes but fate had other plans. It was too late and the he had run too close to the sidewalk and struck Patrick's wife.
For the next 5 years of his life, Patrick was very sad. He never played his French harp anymore and only spoke in short coherent sentences, he took his time walking so that he would never let his pace leave his son's side, and when his neighbors would argue he would lay a hand on each person's shoulder and simply shake his head and walk off. This still would stop people in the town from fighting but not because they were delighted that he cared so much for them but because they cared so much for him. There was still one fight that was taking place Patrick had not settled. Two of the farmers on the border of the town were having a land dispute that started 12 years ago. Patrick's son was friends with both of their boys and he would hear them talk about their dads constantly yelling at each other and moving the fence back and forth.
Patrick's son woke him up one night to ask if the two boys could stay with them. Their fathers were really heated and it was keeping them awake. Patrick agreed but didn't want the fight to continue. He swiftly tugged his slacks on, popped his arms in his coat, and headed over to shut the bickering farmers up. It was a particularly dark night that night. The moon was no where in the sky so Patrick couldn't really be seen. It came as a great shock to everyone in the morning when it was discovered one of the farmers had shot Patrick in the dead of the night thinking he was a bear.
Story by: James D. Gray
1/9/18
Patrick was also the sort of person to try and resolve a conflict between two people that were fighting. His neighbors would be tossing their fists around and he would run up in the middle with his arms out. They never really understood what Patrick was trying to tell them but by the time he had stopped and looked at them they couldn't remember what they were even fighting about. He could be assertive and raise his voice if he felt the situation called for it but most of his own fits ended with him dipping his head and letting out a sigh of "Oh, dear."
On one particularly lovely evening out with his wife a terrible tragedy had shook the town. Patrick and his wife were walking home from their date. They were still in town and had not even passed the corner drug store 4 blocks from where they lived. Another man was headed in their direction driving a car. This other man didn't know much about motorized vehicles and didn't keep his in a well working condition. His car was sputtering and clanking driving down the road until it coughed real hard and his steering wheel jerked to the side and broke free from his grasp. The driver tried to halt the car with the brakes but fate had other plans. It was too late and the he had run too close to the sidewalk and struck Patrick's wife.
For the next 5 years of his life, Patrick was very sad. He never played his French harp anymore and only spoke in short coherent sentences, he took his time walking so that he would never let his pace leave his son's side, and when his neighbors would argue he would lay a hand on each person's shoulder and simply shake his head and walk off. This still would stop people in the town from fighting but not because they were delighted that he cared so much for them but because they cared so much for him. There was still one fight that was taking place Patrick had not settled. Two of the farmers on the border of the town were having a land dispute that started 12 years ago. Patrick's son was friends with both of their boys and he would hear them talk about their dads constantly yelling at each other and moving the fence back and forth.
Patrick's son woke him up one night to ask if the two boys could stay with them. Their fathers were really heated and it was keeping them awake. Patrick agreed but didn't want the fight to continue. He swiftly tugged his slacks on, popped his arms in his coat, and headed over to shut the bickering farmers up. It was a particularly dark night that night. The moon was no where in the sky so Patrick couldn't really be seen. It came as a great shock to everyone in the morning when it was discovered one of the farmers had shot Patrick in the dead of the night thinking he was a bear.
Story by: James D. Gray
1/9/18
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