Dutton-ness

Okay, so I'm a little different.

I understand what animals are saying and translate it for my kids. (They really believe I have this ability!) I'm one from a long line of animal understanders.

Storytelling...we have to tell stories or we'll explode.  Really.  Most Duttons are GREAT storytellers; I'm an amateur amongst the great ones, but someday...

There's a lot of whimsy, a lot of mischief and eternal teasing.  If Duttons like you, they'll tease you.  And nickname you, but that's another post. 

One of the masters of all traits was my Great Uncle Joe.  There isn't enough time or room in a blog post to begin to describe him; I won't try. He was one of the four most important men in my childhood, someone who ALWAYS had time for me, always made me believe I was someone special no matter what.  But  reading this, you'll see where I come from and why I am who I am...

Once upon a time, when I was seven years old, I wrote to the Easter Bunny with a special request as to the placement of my Easter Basket.  (Yes, even then...an odd person...)  I remember writing the letter, actually, and addressing it to Easter Island, carefully putting the stamp on the envelope and Mom mailed it at Sand Springs.

Sand Springs Store and Post Office...now there's a book!  My Uncle Joe and Aunt Daisy were the proprietors/post masters and a thousand other roles; the center of our little community.  My Mom worked there and that's where Uncle Joe got ahold of the letter, bless his heart. 

This is not a man who just sat around, reading the paper and growing old.  He was a pilot, helped fix wells, volunteered as ambulance personnel and so forth.  But he loved people, and his family especially.  Uncle Joe (I mean, the Easter Bunny) took time to send this response to me:

In this envelope:

Thrills!!!

Of course, I immediately wrote back, apparently reluctant to sleep by the creek as suggested. 

This was the letter I recieved in response:

The letter reads:

*In explanation, regarding the name of my horse, Gross.  It was NOT MY CHOICE!!! My Dad has this habit of naming horses after the person he bought them from.  I was told that he bought my fat little sorrel from a guy with the pitiable last name of Gross.  I suffered right along with him, because other kids had horses with names like Brownie or Joe. 

Anyway, back to the story...
My Easter basket WAS by my bed that year, but never again. 
I truly believed in the Easter Bunny for many, many years longer than I ever believed in Santa.  After all, I had proof!

I'm so very grateful to my Mom for saving these letters for me.  They are dear as can be, and when I read them, I can see Uncle Joe in his cozy, cluttered office, typing and drawing and laughing to himself.

I'm so very grateful I grew up in a family that pretended as automatically and naturally as sneezing and who showed us that it should continue though all our lives.  This summer is another Dutton family reunion...I can't WAIT to be among my own, again!