R.I.P. Emanuel

I was reminded by my little sister Reaghan a few weeks of one of the greatest speeches of all time. This of course was my speech I presented to my Oral Communication class years ago at Tidewater Community College. Our assignment was to deliver a 3-5 min speech about a life changing event that happened to us. Well if you know me you also know that I enjoy a good chuckle... or two... sometimes lots of chuckles all in a row. That's right, one right after the other. Anyway, the night before the speech was to be given I thought of a life changing event that might have taken place in real life... if I grew up in West Virginia with an Uncle named Buck who gave me a shotgun for my birthday... Here's how my speech went:

" Good morning everyone. My name is Rebekah Rickards. I appreciate the opportunity to share this very sensitive and yet LIFE CHANGING experience." I was sure to lock eyes with my instructor who was already intrigued by the confidence of my delivery. "The truth is I owe my life to one very special individual. I wouldn't be standing before you fine people today if it weren't for a Mallard named Emanuel"... "Allow me to take you back five years ago to my hometown; Chissleville, West Virginia on my 14th birthday. My Uncle Buck handed me a long, lumpy gift wrapped in a musty flannel blanket. The stray strands of hay and burrs were a unique alternative to the traditional glossy birthday bow. None the less I unravelled the blanket to discover a shotgun. "Uh... Uncle Buck.... you really probably shouldn't have... is this for predators?" My dear uncle replied with a slight whistle as air escaped from his gap toothed grin.... "SSSSSchweety you can shoot yourself a predator if you like, but ima take you deer huntin with that there shooting gun." Great. I managed to grow up in the stone-wash jean knee-staining, red clay hills of West Virginia for 14 years without shooting anything. "Wera headin out tomorra" he said. Uncle Buck is one of those guys that seem to sweat for no reason. You know the type. You could be standing half naked in an ice cream parlor and he would still be beading up. I knew arguing wouldn't change anything. "OK Uncle Buck... sounds like a plan"

<4:00 am> I could hear the rusty pickup truck barreling down our dirt driveway. You know its funny how vehicles seem to be an extension of the owner. This was definitely the case for Buck. It too had an unfortunate grill... parts missing. It would sputter and spit oil, again for no reason, just sitting in front of my house... even the horn seemed to stutter like Uncle Buck. I got in the truck and we were off... I endured five hours and 10 different renditions of "She'll be Comin Round the Mountain." "She'll wont be coming 'Round the mountain." (which really does not make sense) "She'll Be Eatin Shicken and 'Dumplins" (Apparently you need both of your front teeth to make the "Ch--" sound)... and well, seven other versions... all the same tune. I seriously considered "falling" out the truck about the 3rd time, decided against it after seeing the sparkle in Buck's Eye on the 6th time, then I seriously reconsidered "falling" out the truck again on the 10th... thank God he accidentally ran over a skunk which distracted him from any more creative Mountain songs.

We finally arrived. Uncle Buck dug through the back of his pickup and threw all the gear in a camouflage bag. I thought I would just chill in a tree and go through the motions of hunting to appease my Uncle. No such luck. Buck brought us matching camoiuflage jumpsuits with a detachable fanny pack ('fo eckshra ammo"), bright orange trucker hats for safety , a pair of what appeared to be deer antlers, and lastly a mysterious black bottle with a picture of a deer squating in a bush ('fo a last resort"- again in the words of Buck). Whatever. Let's get this over with.

I followed Buck deep into the woods for what seemed like eternity. I might would enjoyed the beauty of nature if it weren't for the dime-sized misquitoes lined up buffet-style around my neck like the golden corral and the stench of dried up Uncle Buck sweat permanantly parked in the fibers of the camouflaged jumpsuit. We reached our destination. It was a giant Oak Tree. I chuckled to myself. I've heard Uncle Buck talk about it... but I thought my Uncle was deranged... you know like maybe the velcroe to his hat was a bit tight... but no. The big Oak Tree; Uncle Bucks secret most sacred hunting spot, indeed, was in the shape of a St. Bernard. God does have a sense of humor... truly a freak of nature. We crawled up the dog tree and sat in silence for an hour. Nothing. Not one deer. Another hour passed... wait... is that... yeah, no. Nothing. I kinda felt sorry for Uncle Buck. He was sooo excited. At one point I could have sworn I little tear drop trickle down his dirty face. But then again who could tell, he was sweating so much. "Well, " he said dissapointedly. "Guess we could head out if you wanna..." Poor guy. Hmm...I think that is sweat? I can't tell. I still felt bad for him. " Unless....." he paused. "You wanna use the secret weapon". Wow. Is this guy for real? " Sure, Uncle Buck. Let's bust it out. Bring on the secret weapon" His faced wrinkled as a melon size grin stretched across his face. He actually had more teeth than I thought. He reached into the camo bag and pulled out the mysterious black bottle and the deer antlers. He then proceeded to duct tape the antlers on my head and douse me with the mysterious yellow liquid from the mysterious black bottle. It smelled god forsaken... like the saliva of Satan himself. "Perfect" Buck said inspecting the position of the antlers now mounted on my head. "All ya gotta do is get down there in the forest and prance 'round with deer like movements... you know some head type bobbin like so... and some hoof pawin stuff like sooo...." He couldn't be more serious as he deomonstrated the deer movements to me. I wanted to laugh, but then I remembered I had antlers taped to my head and thought at this point I might actually look more ridiculous than my Uncle.
I jumped down and did as my Uncle said. I was embarassed at first but to be honest I kinda got into after about 20 minutes of my "deer dance". "At least we're alone in the woods together". I paused for a moment stunned at the words that just left my mouth. "You sure are durin a good job...real natural... you sure you aint done this before?" he asked. "No. Never. " I quickly responded.
Suddenly I heard a lighting bolt pierce the sky. The ground beside me exploded and dirt flew in my face. I froze mid prance. " DUCK! ITS A HUNTER!" I heard my Uncle Buck holler. OH MY GOD. I guess I am a natural... but.. WHAT A HORRBILE DEATH. And it would be my own stupid fault. Here I am in the woods... looking like a deer... smelling like a deer... and yes, even dancing like a deer. It would never hold up in court... that is if I survived. Another crack of the gun sounded.... time slowed down. I could see the bullet coming straight for me.... "DUuuuuuCK!" Uncle yelled. Just then... right on cue the heavens opened and I saw the most angelic creature soaring down from the treetops. A Mallard Duck. It flew right in front of me and took a bullet to the head for me. I stood there stunned. I nearly lost my life. I knelt beside the heroic duck that flew to my rescue and sacrificed his life for mine. "Poor fella... he must have thought Uncle Buck was calling him." I stayed for a few minutes embracing my hero...paw in wing...

In that very spot a statue was built in memory of the Mallard that saved my life. I named him Emauel. If you were to travel to the West Virginian woods of Chisselville, past the tree that looks like a St. Bernard you will see it. A glorious fixture of my eternal gratitude for Emanuel the Mallard Duck.

(Single tear drop down face) I thank you, dear Oral Communication class of Tidewater Community College, for allowing me the opportunity to share with you this life changing event.