Nicholas L. Bourdeau, CPA/ABV, CFEContact Nick Bourdeau

Nicholas L. Bourdeau
Bourdeau Conflict Relief, pllp
PO Box 6363
Great Falls, MT 59406
Phone: (406) 727-8365
Fax: (406) 727-3708



Coffee Break

Years ago Nick discovered that the users of his software weren't reading the (sometimes) important information that accompanied the regular updates to the software. This occasionally caused mass confusion, irate phone calls and a technical support disaster. Therefore, to get users to read the newsletter, he started including some bits and snippets that he thought were amusing. To his total amazement, a few people thought they were worth reading. Since then, the letters have gone in for a career of their own. In response to numerous requests, the newsletters are being compiled, unabridged, and put into a book. This will take some time, but the design of a high quality bird cage liner cannot be rushed.

The following is a portion of a recent "Newsletter":

There was a time when I thought I could be a good influence on children. A time when I believed that I was a more or less excellent member of society and that I could serve as a positive role model. A role model perhaps for a troubled youth to lead him down the path of righteousness and justice. I was, of course, wrong.

Kevin was not a bad boy. He was troubled. He was troubled by the truth. So troubled, in fact, that he avoided it at all costs. He was also troubled by authority. So troubled that, at least where he was concerned, the concept did not exist. Kevin was also troubled by structures that were made of wood…and not ablaze. So troubled was our fair haired, blue eyed lad, that he took every opportunity to remedy the situation.

Kevin was seven years of age when we met. He was a pleasant looking boy that I thought any parent would be proud of. And I suppose they were. They just chose to live at least two states away from wherever Kevin was to be found. The plan was to take Kevin fishing. Water (except in certain eastern cities) is not normally flammable. Being under twelve, Kevin did not require a license. I however, did and forked over my bucks to secure the appropriate legalities. I carefully put the license on the edge of my dresser to insure that I would remember it and called the foster care provider to make arrangements for the next Saturday.

It was a gorgeous spring day, and on the way to the fishing hole Kevin entertained me with various tales. His favorites seemed to center on the various abuses heaped upon him by his foster parents. These included various tortures, deprivations and deviant behaviors. I had been forewarned, however, and was therefore free to enjoy the spiel. After all, I appreciate a creative and skilled liar as much as anyone.

It was cool and clear in the morning when we arrived. As the sun warmed the river bank, it also began to warm about ten billion mayflies. Kevin and I watched as the flies began to wander out from under leaves and rocks. We watched uneasily as they started warming up. First a little wing flexing, then some jumping jacks, and then a brace of push ups; the usual. Finally, like a squadron of bombers, they taxied and took flight. Mayflies are not terribly good pilots, and fish are very adept at taking advantage of the situation. Kevin and I watched as the fish gorged themselves on the bounty. After a while Kevin looked at me and asked, “Why would the fish bite on our flies when they can eat all those other flies?” This was an excellent point. I entered into the philosophy of fishing. That is, fishing is not necessarily about catching fish. It is about the great outdoors, the commune with nature, the (usually) male bonding and the getting away from it all. Due to the “G” audience, I edited out the part about its being a nearly perfect excuse for drinking beer. Kevin was not impressed. His language and attitude deteriorated rapidly as the mayflies explored his ears, eyes, mouth and set up a conga line under his shirt. I was about to suggest that a rapid retreat was in order when the game warden drove up….

Copyright © Nicholas L. Bourdeau, 2006