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Days of Happy Talk
Happy Talk

    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.

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