The Comedian’s Tale
On a prolonged pilgrimage to the Alamo shrine, I heard tales of adventure both small and tall. One by one, their stories unfolded like a serpent’s tongue reeling me in. One such short story starts with such sorrow. On a cruel November in 1492, with its cold cutting wind, a little lad lost his family and was starving on the streets. His sunken eyes following boys running up and down the streets with longing. This is where the Comedian’s Tale begins.
He was a little lad, age of six, when his family perished in a fire. Slight of build with long golden locks. He lived on the streets in poverty; not a penny to his name. He would tell jokes and make people laugh for money, and because it made him feel better. The only thing he had for happiness were the memories of the jokes his dad told.
The poor, starving boy thought that life was over, until one day, when he came upon another boy whose circumstance was vastly different than his. This boy had curly brown hair
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Everyone was to arrive early that morning for the King’s decision. The poor boy woke up early that morning and sprinted to the castle. He was the first to arrive, so that he could see the King up close.
The King entered the lush courtyard and said, “I have made a decision.” He looked around the courtyard searching the faces of everyone there.
“Little boy, what is your name,” he said? “You didn’t tell us one yesterday.”
“I have no name,” said the embarrassed boy.
“Then, we shall call you Comedian,” said the King, “For you have won the contest!”
“How did you get to be so funny at such a young age,” asked the King?
“Jokes were the only thing my father left me,” he responded.
“Well, then he left you enough,” said he King.
The Tale of the Comedian, is mine. It is one of sorrow to fame, one of poverty to prestige. As the saying goes, when life only gives you lemons, make