Friday, July 13, 2007

Happy Birthday Dad!

Once in each generation there is a man that strives for greatness. Herein lies the story of such a man, though his vision has yet to be realized. This is the tale of Jeffrey Herman Cordover.

In a small village called the Bronx of New York, Jeffrey was born to his parents Bernice and Abraham. Bernice wanted her son to grow big and strong and wise, and tried feeding him everything to help in his development. But Jeffrey was a finnicky eater, and all of Bernice's efforts seem to come in vain.

Bernice attempted to feed Jeffrey fruit, but he refused. Bernice tried vegetables, but Jeffrey would not eat one bite. Next she tried fish. This only enraged Jeffrey, who threw the fish out the window and angrily bellowed, "Fish, fish, tuchas kish!" (roughly translated as "no, I will not eat this fish").

Then an idea came to Bernice. You see, Jeffrey had always loved to learn about farm animals. Whenever Bernice told of her parents' life on the farm in the Old Country, his eyes would grow wide and his mind would fill with wonder. His curiosity was especially piqued when Bernice spoke of chickens and their magnificent creation: the egg.

So Bernice fed Jeffrey eggs, and he eagerly consumed them. He was happy, but Jeffrey was not satisfied. He vowed that one day he would have a farm of his own, and on that farm chickens would roam, and those chickens would lay the most fresh and glorious eggs, and Jeffrey would have fresh and glorious eggs to eat each and everyday.

As time passed by, Jeffrey grew big and strong and wise, just as his mother had wanted. He soon met a beautiful maiden name Judith Zelda Ollinger, and though she thought his dream odd, she grew dearly in love with Jeffrey. And they married.

But Jeffrey could not yet afford to finance his dream, and he now had a wife to think about. So he worked in whatever job he could find in the small village called the Bronx of New York. He endeavored as a bagboy at the local grocerie store. He made wire coat hangers in a factory. He worked as salesman of women's undergarments. But none of these jobs could earn him enough money to care for Judith and save for his dream.

So he and Judith packed their bags and moved to the faraway village of Boston. Jeffrey worked in several jobs, but was not satisfied at any of them. But he was satisfied with two bundles of joy that he and Judith begot: Marc and Marcy.

When Jeffrey got totally fed up with his job prospects, he shouted at his boss: "Gay cackin affin yamin!" (rough translation: I wish not to work here any more). To pursue his dreams and take care of his family, Jeffrey and the Cordover clan moved to the village of Miami.

At first he once again could only find a job selling women's undergarments. But then an opportunity of a lifetime came along. His brother, Howard, started an international goat emporium, and asked Jeffrey to join him. Though there were no chickens or eggs involved, Jeffrey jumped at the opportunity to work with beloved farm animals.

In time, Jeffrey took over the international goat emporium. Soon after, he and Judith produced a third child, and named him Adam. All were content. Well, maybe not all. Jeffrey had yet to realize his vision.

Twenty years passed by, all of the children were out of the house, and Jeffrey and Judith had earned enough savings to retire. Jeffrey intended to live the good life.

He and Judith scoured all over the country to find the best chicken-egg producing conditions. They finally settled on a plot of land in Weaverville, North Carolina. Once their house was built, all that was left was to erect a chicken coup and buy some chickens.

But alas, just as Jeffrey laid the coup cornerstone, he received some bad news: His plot of land was in an N.C.Z. And, as everyone knows, "N.C.Z." stands for "No Chicken Zone."

Though he briefly flirted with the idea of building a pond, getting some ducks, and feeding off their eggs, Judith vetoed that idea. Such a plan would have required the ducks to stay in their bathtub during the winter, and Judith would have none of that.

Jeffrey then did the only thing he could do: lobby the Weaverville Citizen's Council. Unfortunately, the Council has yet to take up the matter.

So you would think with all of these years passed by and still no fresh eggs, Jeffrey would feel dejected. Quite the opposite is true. As Jeffrey will tell you, "Ven der petzel shtait, de sechel gait" (rough translation: "One day, I will have fresh eggs").

To this day, if you enter the town of Weaverville, you will see Jeffrey Cordover. He is the one on the big orange tractor, keeping his land ready for the day he will be allowed to build his chicken coup.