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Like flipping pancakes
in a pan many parents, today, go from one to the next of their children,
or grandchildren's trauma. I've heard it said that there are powerful
organizations who prey upon the naive world of children. As I've gone
through many situation with parents who have endured I believe there is,
indeed, a group of something, evil spirit or living, who have a set of
rules and circumstances so well planned and thought out, literally,
nothing or no one can prevail against them, well, none other than high
dollar attorneys and other institutions who will fight for the children
but for a sizable fee. These righteous organizations go about their fight
as methodically as any army and have no holds barred as they equally stand
toe to toe against their client's enemy.
The day after making it through the on-going battle with a friend I
found myself aware of my age and tiredness. This was the morning Mother
called and wanted to go to Wal-Mart. Hurriedly I dried my short hair as
well as I could, since I had just stepped out of the shower. Seeing that
Rhonda was warmly dressed gave my attention to her and I forgot a cap for
myself. The shopping trip through Wal-Mart was pleasant and Mother was in
her element, zipping about the wide, almost empty isles at this early
morning on the little electric cart provided for the elderly and disabled
by the store. We had coffee and a roll with the other gray panthers in the
McDonald's section and with not too much time spent we were ready to go.
I always make a mental note of where my car is parked, partly due to
memories I have of getting lost in this huge parking lot in Dallas. While
Rhonda and Mother waited, I took our purchases in a cart directly to where
I had parked the car. The cold wind sliced across the back of my neck and
through my hair that was still a bit damp.
“I'll be sick, sure as the world, I'll be sick,” I was thinking and
then I looked up to where I had parked the car. It wasn't there. I looked
again at the space where another car had the spot occupied. “Oh my! Who
would want a battered up, old car like mine? How am I going to explain to
Rodney someone stole his car. Nothing to do but go back to the entry of
the store where Mother and Rhonda were waiting and when I got there to see
Mother observing me carefully, it dawned on me. “I'm driving Mother's car
which was a dark blue Buick instead of a light tan car like mine.” I
never drive her car and it was totally foreign to me. The glue from the
tile, my sore aching muscles, the time at the court house where I watched
scarred, sad people trying to survive had done a real trip on my mind.
Instead of being paralyzed with fear though, it all at once occurred to
me what a rare moment of idiocy this was. Of course, I couldn't laugh and
confess to Mother of what I had done. “Here I am, supposed to be the great
protector and too addled to remember that I was driving her car.”
“Mother, I decided I would drive the car up close to the door so I
could load groceries and you and Rhonda at the same time. It's too cold
for you to walk across the parking lot.” I easily lied to my own mother so
she wouldn't be disturbed by my lapse of memory. She seemed satisfied with
the decision and didn't ask any questions. Thank heaven for humor,
forgiveness and burning cold winds to knock the cobwebs out from a
half-wet head. |
