What To Say When The Time Comes
Me, fuming, barefoot--the setup was the same. Second time, I'm in a dress. Or rather a short, flowing brown skirt, avocado blouse strung through with muscled, veined arms swinging. I beat my chest. I actually beat my chest, but with just the one fist. The left one, nearest my heart and making my point. Is this what they'll remember? In a year filled with funerals of loved ones, I get to wondering what my kids would say about me if given the opportunity to summarize. Would the above stories of my confronting neighborhood sins be told, and would they appear in or out of context? As in, "My mom was crazy enough to stop a drug deal barefoot, and ended up holding hands with the perpetrator and crying?" Or, simply, "My mom was crazy"? Kids, let me help you out here. (Greg, I'm trusting you to report on your package deal with accuracy.) Children. I have encouraged your creativity, no? And not in the ways the parenting books suggest. Yes, I keep the ...