There's an Angel Under My Bed
by
Book Details
About the Book
Exactly when do we stop seeing through the eyes of little children? When do we quit seeing and talking with our guardian angels? Let us explore the constant battle of our morality through the eyes of a child!
About the Author
Kenneth David Brubacher was born into a large family of sort of Mennonites in Elmira, ON, through no fault of his own. He was encouraged to make an attempt at becoming a normal human being, but with clearly limited success. To the surprise of nearly everyone he graduated from secondary school in 1970. From there he traveled the world extensively, turning his hand to many kinds of jobs, and eventually returned to Elmira having accomplished very little. He got work as a millwright, but it was soon evident that he was a millwrong. After being mercifully fired from that job he went trucking and almost immediately distinguished himself (Summa Cum Laude with Oak Leaf Cluster and Silver Star) by destroying the truck. He married and begat two lovely daughters who took after their mother in many wonderful ways, an d turned out normal. It was considered a blessing that he had no sons because there was a high degree of probability that they might well grow up to be like their dad. Knowing little about shoes, and even less about feet, he then took over his father’s shoe repair shop and started to make shoes by hand along about April Fools’ Day 1978. Very few people caught on. It was obvious that people whose feet were so bad that they sought out the services of a cobbler were not very fussy. The business prospered in spite of its inherent inadequacies. He also applied himself to many varieties of sport, establishing a universal mediocrity in their pursuit seldom seen. When his body was sufficiently trashed he took up umpiring baseball, where it was observed that his training must have occurred under the tender administrations of the CNIB. Currently he makes his home on a rented farm near Creemore, ON, and repairs a few shoes in his small shop in Collingwood. The farmhouse will soon become a gravel pit, whereupon it was his intent to establish institutions where Mennonites could go to seek quiet enjoyment. This, of course, until it was pointed out to him that they had already done it. These establishments are known as Mennonite Farms. The author heartily recommends that any reader who takes a notion to write and produce a book or a play, then to lie down on the couch and watch videos of fawns gamboling in a sun-splashed meadow full of butterflies - until the feeling goes away. It is hoped that you enjoy the book, and that its contents and presentation may provide therapeutic assistance in the remedy of your insomnia.