Just a simple rock

It is a small and simple black rock. Nothing extraordinary about it. Well at least that’s what I thought.
That’s what I thought, till the rock started to talk. “Hay, Hay down here.” looking down at my feet I saw a black rock. I bent down to pick up this simple black rock, and I said to it. “You’re a rock. You can not talk!” The rock seemed to smile. “I most certainly can, just sit down and ill prove it.” I sat down on the ground and studied the rock in my hand.  Immediately it began to talk “You see these white spots on my back that’s from the time your father and you painted the house.
  I remember you were only a small boy and so excited that your father asked for your help. You got more paint on yourself then you did the house” (I smiled at the memory.) "see this crack running down my face? This came when you and your brother played baseball." (we ruined my dad’s autographed baseball bat) “And this dirt pile you picked me up from well that is where you use to sit and listen to your grandfather play his harmonica, that man played a mean harmonica.” (I could hear his harmonica on the wind.) The stories this rock could tell.
  Just holding it brought back fond memories of my childhood. I was very impressed with this little rock, and a little sad its tale was all done I’m all grown up and don’t have time to play with rocks in the back yard, but the rock had more to say “Remember, when you pick the spot I will lay this is where your kids will play.” a smile crossed my face I set the rock down got up and dusted my self off then called for my son “Rodney… come here I want to play.” And as for the rock, in the back yard it sat, and waited, and waited, to tell its story to any one who thought that a rock couldn’t talk.