Falling Rock

When I was a kid our family loved taking road trips. We had an RV. Not the sort of RV that was a trailer, but the kind that had state-of-the-art awnings and pull out beds above the driver’s seat with fancy bedspreads and groovy CB radios. My dad loved his RV. He loved the opened road, the mosquitos that squished dead on the windshield and the peanut butter pickle sandwiches that my mom served for lunch.

He loved listening to songs like “Home, home on the range” and being the only Jew who could proudly say he knew how to take his RV to the dump.  He loved getting to know Americans of all kinds and meeting people in Montana who insisted his Jewish prayer shawl strings were for pheasant hunting expeditions.

Most of all he loved to tell us stories between destinations.  One afternoon while driving through the Rockies we noticed “Falling Rock” written on large yellow diamond signposts every few miles. In between “where the deer and the buffalo roam” and “seldom is heard a discouraging word…” my dad came up with the greatest story that explained what these signposts meant.

I’ve vacillated back and forth whether to retell this story, and decided it’s worth sharing, eventhough it may not be the most “Rebbetzin-ish story”.  But my dad was after all a gutts and butts doc. Burping at the dinner table was considered a compliment, and all other human gestures were considered expected if not tolerated. For those who find it funny, please chuckle.  For those who are offended, I’m pulling out my license to say whatever I want mourner card.  Plus I like pushing the envelope now and again, hoping someone will get hugely offended and write some lame comment. 

Here it goes:

“Many years ago a King wanted to find his daughter a husband to marry. And so the King proclaimed that whomever captured the strongest Bull that roamed on the outskirts of the countryside and managed to bring it back to the King, would have the honor of marrying the very beautiful Princess Ava.  (That was me.) 

Two fellows stood up who were stronger and braver than all in the land. One’s name was “Falling Rock” and the other was “Bear Claw.”  The two men set out on their way to find the one and only Bull living on the outskirts of the countryside when after many weeks, “Bear Claw” finally arrived carrying the Bull over his shoulder in victory. 

Bear Claw won the maiden’s hand in marriage, but to this day Falling Rock never did make it back. Which is why, throughout the world, signs are posted everywhere with the name “Falling Rock,” hoping one day, Falling Rock will be found and restored to claim his second prize, the Bull’s gonads.”

Kind of obvious why Falling Rock went awol. 

(And please don’t write any comments- I’m very fragile right now.)