Broken mold

One of my earliest “regular memories” when I was little is this song Dad made up for me, that he’d sing to me, and get me to sing along with him.

I’m W. W. 3
Yessir, look at me
I’m rough ‘n tough
And mean ‘n bold
And when I was born
They broke the mold
I’m W. W. 3

I definitely have a hint of that bedroom in Michigan associated with it, so I had to have been at least 4-ish.

I don’t know…maybe I don’t have so much to SAY about it. But this is what kinda “stuck” to me this morning as I contemplated what–or if–to write a post here today. (I’d done a post that went live at the comics blog today).

So even MORE “stream of consciousness” than usual, I guess.

It’s “interesting” to look at those words written out. It’s always JUST been this little “tune” in my head. 36-37 years. And surely over 30 since the last time he sang it to me.


I’m vaguely recalling–and this could be wishful thinking, or what-if, or deja-vu, or who-knows-what–but I feel like it had come up “recently,” like I can “hear” him in my mind that he’d asked me if I remembered “that song.” Can’t remember what the context might’ve been, what brought it up or to mind.

And jumping back to when I was a kid again, I do remember asking what it meant “they broke the mold.”

And that’s what I think has prompted me to go ahead and write on this.

Grandpa was the first.

Dad was the second (II).

And me? I’m the third (III).

I’m 41 years old, single, no prospects, and while I’ve never NOT wanted kids, simple fact is that I HAVE NO kids.

I’m the last of this branch of the family.

I didn’t follow Dad into the military. Grandpa was born in 1920. Dad was born in 1950. I was born in 1980. I have no child, and 2010 is now 12 years ago.

So many other things.

When I was born, they sure did break the mold.

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