Or, the latest reason my son really appreciates me.
He’s 17. Naturally, he can ‘handle’ everything on his own. He’s driving. He has his own car (which he bought himself, having worked for the past 2 years, pays his own insurance etc.).
I belong to an auto club (for several years, I drove a firebird. 'nuff said). I wondered “gee, is my son covered?” and finally remembered to call them and ask. The answer was ‘no’, but for a nominal additional charge, he could be. So I signed him up, asking ‘when is this effective?’ Immediately was the answer.
That was Monday. I told him Monday afternoon, gave him my card. Tuesday night close to midnight, on a busy 3 lane state highway (Saginaw Street for those of you who know Lansing), his car started shaking, then the engine cut off. Turns out he’d run out of gas. some 32 hours after mom signed him up for road service.
hear me now or call me later. I see… ummmmm crowds of people. hmmmm. many, many, many people. they seem to be… shopping. yes, that’s it. and buying. perhaps hand made goods? and ink. I see ink in your future. and (this is a bit hazy) hmmmmm ruuuuuuuuuuu yes! rubber!
[sub]how’d I do?[/sub]
See, several weeks ago my stepdaughter was trying to hide something in her hand (I can’t remember what it was, though). I told her I could see what she was holding, she said that I couldn’t because her hand was in the way, and I told her I could because grownups can see through things. She said ‘Yeah right’ or something to that effect and I assumed she realized I was joking. I forgot all about it, and recently she had to get some stitches. She came over to show me her stitches and she was saying ‘See, I have four’ and I told her I couldn’t see them because she was wearing a bandage over them, and she looked at me weird and said ‘But you can see through stuff’.
My mom had this amazing ability to make me tell her anything. She never asked me stuff, but I would just tell her. I never lied to my mom or did bad stuff behind her back because I was convinced that she would just know about anything I did or said. My sister was the same way. Neither of us ever got away with anything because we would always confess everything to my mom.
I asked her once how she did that. Her response was that she and my dad raised us with “good Irish guilt.” I suppose that explains it.
