Here’s a little true story. I think you’ll all gain insite into my upbringing through it. It’s about a holiday called Chicken Day.
Once upon a time, in a magical land called Vermont, there lived a girl named SwimmingRiddles. She had a couple of sisters, and both of her parents lived with her. The main character in this tale, however, is the ever adorable MommaRiddles.
MommaRiddles looks like your stereotypical Irish woman. Round face, tiny nose, blue, blue eyes. SisterRiddles spent a year in Dublin and kept being freaked out because she kept spotting MommaRiddles look-a-likes. This is important only because MommaRiddles thinks she’s Jewish.
You see, MommaRiddles had a Jewish Step-father. Therefore, MommaRiddles claims to be “culturally Jewish.” She bumps her head, and this Irish-looking chickie breaks out with “Oy, guvalt! Mein kauf!”
Many years ago, MommaRiddles was hanging out with her friend, Ann, who is legitimately Jewish. They collectively decided that there wasn’t a really good celebratory sping Jewish holiday. The Christians have Easter, but Ann only had Passover. Let’s face it: Passover isn’t that much of a party holiday. Sure, Easter is a bit of a downer, but Passover is about Angels of Death. Oy.
Ann also had chickens at the time. In the winter, chickens can not live in a chicken koop in Vermont. Their little tail feathers would freeze. So the chickens lived in Ann’s basement. Chickens smell. So Ann, quite justifiably, wanted to get those chickens out of that basement ASAP. But as chickens are not the most reliable of fowl, it’s not easy to convince them to get out of the basement. A large group of people is the best method for this. Thus, the two concepts (non-denominational sping holiday that Jews and Christians alike can celebrate, and get those damned smelly birds out of the basement) converged. Chicken Day was born.
We have our traditions. You must arrive at Ann’s house in costume. It must be chicken related. Chicken puns are always a hit. You can NOT eat chicken on Chicken Day. Omlettes, however, are alright. Homage must be paid to the Chicken Mothers, Ann and MommaRiddles. There are Chicken Carols. There are Chicken Games (Alaskan Chicken, involving a rubber chicken.) And the culmination of the day comes with the Chicken Question. It is an anonymous intellecutal duel. Questions are along the lines of “Why DID the chicken cross the road?” As it is an intellectual bunch, the more obscure and philisophical you can get, the better. The winner (by popular opinion) gets to stand up and collect the pride of winning.
And no, I am not making this up. As a child, I thought it was a real holiday. Actually, I thought it was a real JEWISH holiday, since the only difference between us and Ann’s family was that they were Jewish. And it is this Sunday. I think I’ll be a Chicken Couplet. Costumes can not cost more than $5 to make, so I’m thinking I’ll write a couplet with chickens as the subject, write it on a piece of posterboard, and hang it around my neck.
I just wanted to share the history of this proud holiday, and wish you all a Jolly Chicken Day. (I SWEAR I’m not making this up…) (ps: the rights to the story of Chicken Day are Copywritten. Don’t steal it.)