I'm reading Memoir of a Revolutionary Soldier, by Joseph Plumb Martin. Martin wrote these pages in 1830, the same year in which he turned 70. In the preface and introductory chapter, Martin quickly endears himself as a quirky old guy. He sticks dry wit everywhere.
I found myself thinking of my late grandfather whom I called Popo. Popo is probably the person from whom I get my own dry humor. He and I often found humor in unusual places. When you pick up a book about the Revolutionary War, you probably wouldn't expect humor, but consider the examples below:
I found myself thinking of my late grandfather whom I called Popo. Popo is probably the person from whom I get my own dry humor. He and I often found humor in unusual places. When you pick up a book about the Revolutionary War, you probably wouldn't expect humor, but consider the examples below:
I contend, then, that it is not altogether inconsistent to suppose that I had parents too. I shall undertake to trace my pedigree (like the Welsh) some thousand years beyond the Creation... | When my father arrived at puberty he found his constitution too feeble to endure manual labour, he therefore directed his views to gaining a livelihood by some other means. |
...I, the redoubtable hero of this Narrative, first made my appearance in this crooked, fretful world, upon the twenty-first day of November, in the year 1760. I have been told that the day on which was born was a thanksgiving day, which day is, generally, celebrated with good cheer.
This Joseph Plumb Martin had quite the experience in the war, starting as a 15-year-old boy. Even if you aren't expecting humor, it is refreshing to see that a soldier retains an ability to laugh later in life. One must wonder at his experiences.
