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Father's Day and the Flying Chicken Story

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Looking for a Father's Day gift to let Dad know he's the all-time best? Check out this tutorial on how to make a Cogsworth-inspired air freshener! http://goo.gl/OcQNr (CBC)
Friday on Daybreak, we put out a call asking you to contribute your favourite stories about dear old dad. Take a listen to these touching, and funny, stories.
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We weren't able to read all your stories on air, but be sure to check out these submissions, including the fabulous Flying Chicken Story from Heather Parlane in Kelowna.

Ruby Kidd-Swanson, Enderby, B.C., writes:
My dad was the best!! Being just a wee girl i used I used to like to comb his hair, this one day, i put curlers in his hair , tied a kerchief around his neck and even added a little lipstick. so there was a fellow coming to our farm to look at some pigs we had for sale. Needless to say, my dad not thinking went out to talk to this fellow and there he was, curlers, lipstick and kerchief still on. I can just imagine what this fellow thought !!!!!! never ruffled a feather on my dear dad!!!!! this is just one fond memory I have of this great man in my life!!!

Heather Parlane in Kelowna, B.C. writes:

Families usually have at least one memorable occasion during their formative years together that becomes a delight for both the resident storytellers and listeners alike.  At our family gatherings, which now reach into the twenty plus range, my brother is still asked to grace us with his rendition of our family's classic, The Flying Chicken Story.  It never fails to captivate and delight the diners.  It truly must be a perfect dinner time tale.  ...
My sister, brother and I grew up in the small town of Williams Lake, British Columbia.  Although we were "out in the boonies" my mother maintained a high standard in the art of entertainment and hospitality.  Family meals were always beautifully presented, with nutrition and aesthetics in mind.  When guests graced our home my mother often went into overdrive to make the meal memorable.

It was the day that guests arrived spontaneously, en mass, and a well planned family meal was stretched to accommodate the swollen numbers, that my mom's resourcefulness was pushed to the limit.

As the chicken, that was already prepared and rested in a flavorful white sauce in the kitchen, could not possibly feed the now hungry crowd, my mother quickly added more stewing chicken to her creation and duly covered it in more sauce. With this tactic, our guests would not feel their arrival had limited our portion sizes or been in any way, an inconvenience to us as a family.  This indeed was the hallmark of true hospitality.

Knowing full well that the stewing chicken would not be anything close to tender, cooked alongside of the nicer cuts, each child was surreptitiously taken aside as we wandered innocently through the kitchen that evening. We were told, in no uncertain terms, that when the platter of chicken was offered during the meal, we, the family, were to take the piece of chicken closest to us. This entreaty was accompanied by threats of grave consequences, if found uncooperative or if our guests were made aware of the chicken dilemma.

Thus informed, the meal began.  As usual the table was beautifully presented, grace had been said and the anticipation of a large scrumptious feast occupied both family members and guest alike. As my mother deftly proffered the platter of chicken from one person to the next the family dutifully chose the offering closest to hand, as instructed.

The laughter and banter was in full swing now. The guests sliced smoothly into their tender cuts of poultry, while blissfully unaware of the mounting distress building amidst the ranks of the lowly, family members, who struggled to gain the upper hand with their tough fowl!  Not many minutes had passed when the pleasant chit chat, now well under way, was abruptly silenced by the incoming poultry missile that had won the wrestling match on my father's plate and had sailed in a glorious arch over our guests' heads and down half the length of the table. The aerodynamic bird landed with a deafening crash onto my brother's already full plate! It was a direct hit. It was a bull's eye, right on target.

The accompanying white sauce decorated my brother's chest and surrounding place setting.  The startled occupants of the table took a few moments to register where the incoming foodstuff had originated.  It was soon realized however, that confirmation of the launch site was easy to established.  My father sat grimly at the paternal head of the table, his entire face blemished by telltale spots of sauce, and yes, his chicken was missing.  It was the black night sky of the window behind him however, that reflected the dark beauty of the moment. There, tracing an arc above my father's head was a white splattered rainbow of white sauce.  We gazed in awe as my father turned several different shades of embarrassment until finally, courageously, controlled his anger and astonishment.

As is necessary in these unrehearsed moments, when life takes us on an unexpected jolt out of our comfort zone, it is laughter that saves the day.  What started as an ice breaking smile soon crashed through, into uproarious, side splitting guffaws.  The cat (or the chicken, so it would seem) was now irreparably out-of-the-bag and my dear mother had to own up to her deceitful chicken escapade that ultimately proved to endanger the safety of her guests.

Mom could not have possibly known that on that fateful night, she was indeed creating a memorable eating experience, which would be treasured for years to come.  It's funny, but to this day I cannot remember who the guests were, but I often wonder if they too reminisce fondly about, my Dad and The Flying Chicken Story.

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