Ok you guys can have your daily laugh at this one -
We lived out in Idaho for awhile, moved there when I was in 5th grade and I moved back to Minnesota when I was in the middle of 6th grade (goofy story that I said "I" - I moved east, my parents moved west... someday I'll explain it. Not today. It's not a bad thing or anything... I wasn't a bad child!)
Anyway. One of my dad's favorite pastimes was driving to Yellowstone practically every weekend and/or through the mountains. It got pretty boring after awhile. So during one of those 1st trips - it might have even been the original move to Idaho, don't remember, he passed the time by telling me an old story about an Indian tribe that lived in the mountains. The Indian chief had a son that went wandering one day and never came back... they never found him. The chief got the governments help to get everyone to watch for him. Call it the first Amber Alert, if you will. Signs were posted everywhere throughout the mountains that this chief lived in that you were supposed to watch for his son... his sons name???
Falling Rock.
True fricken story. I looked for that damn Indian boy for the longest time!!! I was so stupid. And to this day my dad loves to tell that story to anyone who will listen.
For those who have never been in the mountains, there are signs everywhere that say "Watch for Falling Rock".
And to think I love my father more than anything else in this world... I should really hate him after that one.
