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“A Funny Thing That Happened to Me” 

First Prize ($250)

I had two short hours until my wedding. People milled around my dad’s house getting dressed and making last-minute preparations. My youngest sister scurried into my bedroom and wanted to know if my shoes were polished. Huh? I had other things on my mind, so I shrugged and pointed to the closet. She snatched the shoes and promised to return right away. An hour later, in stocking feet, I found my sister and the shoes. She said that the polish was still wet and insisted that she help me put them on so I wouldn’t get polish on my hands. Worried about other things, I shrugged and agreed. They didn’t seem any more polished than before. She knelt, slipped them on my feet one shoe at a time, and tied the laces. 

Fast-forward an hour: My bride, Nancy, and I walked down the aisle at St. Stephen’s and knelt before the priest. The majority of those in the front two rows started chuckling. The priest hesitated a couple of seconds, waiting for them to calm 
down. As it turns out, they chuckled because my sister had used fluorescent pink fingernail polish to write on the soles of my shoes: “Save Me” and “Help Me”. 

–Bruce Kubec, Longwood, Florida 

Second Prize ($200)

My son was 6 years old, about halfway through first grade, and he was in that magical stage when learning to read permeated every aspect of his life: reading street signs, reading posters in store windows, reading cereal boxes. He would focus, squint, and silently mouth the printed letters, then decode them into language. He’d do it again and again, the ratio of success creeping up with practice.

So it was that Mom had an evening meeting, and my son and I headed to a local family restaurant for dinner. The menu became his prized focus, a small universe of words and pictures, puzzles to be solved, and a playground for exercising his current favorite sport. He got “french fries” and “ice cream,” but stumbled on “spaghetti” and “appetizer.”

Then, as we neared the end of our dinner, a look of concern wrinkled his face. He scanned the dining room with mild confusion. His eyes lingered on an adjoining, smaller dining area. Finally, he asked, “Do we have to go there if we get ice cream?” I asked what he meant. He then pointed to the menu and read, “It says here, ‘Leave room for dessert.’”

–Rick Schnable, Dover, New Hampshire

Third Prize ($100)

The night before Thanksgiving, one year before, my husband sent our young daughters out to the freezer in the garage with instructions on how to bring in the turkey to defrost. They came back to report that there was no turkey. He told them to look again, adding that it was smaller than usual. They came back with a shrink-wrapped Cornish game hen, asking, “Is this really our turkey?” He assured them that it was, explaining that he’d learned about a new product called Expand-O Turkey.

They put the wrapped bird in the sink with water, and he assured them that—like their fun bath sponges—it would be full size by morning. After they were asleep, he cut open the shrink-wrap to look like it had burst wide open, wrapped up the game hen, and returned it to the freezer.

Before they awoke, he took our real turkey from a cooler where it had been defrosting, removed its shrink-wrap, and placed it in the sink. The game hen’s torn tiny shrink wrap was placed in the water to await the girls’ discovery. Their eyes widened at the scene. Expand-O Turkey was amazing. They spread the word far and wide.

–Cindy Dobrez, Grand Haven, Michigan

Honorable Mention

We were on the road to the Renaissance Festival in Sterling, New York. Upon arriving, my husband parked the van on a large grassy field. We headed toward the entrance. We presented our tickets at the gate, walked into the wooded grounds, and made a beeline for the food stands—pulled pork pockets with creamy coleslaw; turkey legs; strawberry shortcake with whipped cream, and much more. We chose our desired delicacy, and off we ran to see the sights.

Except that I don’t run. I can’t even walk quickly. I have multiple sclerosis and walk with a limp. Climbing stairs is especially difficult, and this festival had plenty of stairs built into the ground. I was ascending one set of stairs as a woman going down stopped me. “How’s the leg?” she asked. I did a quick memory jog: “Do I know her? Apparently, she knows me and knows that I have MS. Is she from church? The neighborhood?”

I didn’t know, but I answered her: “The leg’s a little weak, but I’m sure it’ll get better.” She nodded, smiling strangely at me. She went along her merry way, as I lifted a huge 1-pound turkey leg to my mouth.

–Geraldine Bereziuk-Lowrey Buffalo, New York