Shakespeare is 450 Years Old
“God has given you one face, and you make yourself another.” Hamlet My mother and I managed to fight about almost everything. She was always trying to raise me. To top it all off, Mom considered me to be the, “strange” one of our bunch. [Trust me, I am not. I know who the strange one is, and that free radical has been darting around the gene pool, luring people toward the drain for some time now!] While Mom expected us to do well is school, she didn’t expect me to adopt what she considered to be, “exotic” tastes. Mom was a constant reader, but she liked Edna Ferber and Willa Cather. Her favorite book was, The Shepherd of the Hills , a soap opera of a book about the settlers of the Ozarks. Mother thought I had gone way off the rails when I discovered a taste for Shakespeare. “If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us shall we not revenge?” The Merchant of Venice Mom wa