I remember one spring, Daddy got us a little baby duck. Mom doesn't remember why or how we got her. She was so cute and yellow and fuzzy. We named her Little Quack. I don't remember a whole lot about her and she grew up fast and we had to get rid of her. But none of that seems to matter. It just mattered that we got a duck.
Sometimes there are small moments in our life that make for lasting memories. I remember with fondness the sound she would make. After she was gone, I can remember Jack walking through the kitchen in tennis shoes and it made a squeaky sound on the linoleum and I remember us saying he sounded like Little Quack.
Isn't it strange the things we remember that don't have any particular meaning other than they were of a happy time in our lives. We should always cherish our memories. Our moments are numbered and we need to make each one count.
I will forever be grateful for having loving parents who devoted their whole lives to making us happy.