(as told on Sunday nights, to groans and delight)
Years ago, a family began a tradition—Sunday evenings were for stories, shared art, and creation. It only lasted a few weeks, but this tale was told and retold, much to the kids’ exasperated groans. They knew what was coming. They also knew they’d laugh.
There was once a couple who dreamed of having a child.
Most especially, a boy child.
But the family warned them:
“Screaming nights!”
“Crying for no reason!”
“You’ll never survive with your delicate nerves. Better to stay childless than sleep-deprived!”
But the couple would not listen.
They wished for chubby little fingers grasping blocks and plush toys.
They longed for the sweet chaos of toddling feet and scattered laughter.
Friends chimed in with warnings:
“You’ll go broke feeding that extra mouth. Boys eat more than girls.”
“And then there’s teething—he’ll chew the furniture like a dog!”
“And braces! Retainers! Lost and chewed and replaced—three times over!”
But the couple would not listen.
They imagined chubby legs stumbling joyfully across wooden floors—
the rhythm of life drumming through the house.
Then came more warnings:
“He’ll argue. Whine for toys and screen time!”
“And when he finds his voice, you’ll regret it—he’ll use your words against you!”
Still, the couple would not listen.
And so, in due time, they were with child.
Tests showed it would be a boy.
But tests also showed something might be wrong.
Still, the couple chose to carry him, come what may.
The pregnancy was as pregnancies are:
good days, nauseous days, days of quiet hope.
The birth came swiftly—shoulders passed, and the rest followed with ease.
Except…
There was no head.
Just smooth skin from shoulder to shoulder,
and the faintest little bump where a neck might have been.
They were concerned.
But the doctors were baffled—Headless John (as they would come to call him) had perfect color, strong vitals, and calm breath.
He did not cry.
He did not need to.
He was placed gently in their arms.
And oh, what a baby he was!
He slept through the night—no wailing, no fuss.
He stayed within growth charts (though a little short—BECAUSE HE HAD NO HEAD).
No allergies, no colic. He ate very little.
BECAUSE HE HAD NO HEAD.
He toddled with joyous drumming feet.
He carried toys in chubby fingers.
And when he ran—he never bumped into things.
BECAUSE HE HAD NO HEAD.
In T-Ball, his cap was never lost.
The team loved him.
He needed no batting helmet—BECAUSE HE HAD NO HEAD.
As a teenager, he was respectful.
No backtalk, no slamming doors, no arguing for curfews or concert tickets.
He had opinions, but he honored the rules.
And with girls—well, his parents never worried he’d go beyond holding hands.
BECAUSE HE HAD NO HEAD.
They enrolled him in mime class (naturally).
He played football—state champion running back.
No helmet needed.
All they had to do was love and support him…
until he graduated.
Because everyone knows—
If you want to GET A HEAD in life…
you have to go to college.
