Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Remember Your Coat
I was at our school's yard sale yesterday. I'd just taken off my coat and put it inside my car. Just then I noticed Stepfather walking toward me, having just gotten out of his car.
He was carrying a coat.
"Hi, Bob. I'm glad you made it over here," I said.
"Here, Linda." He handed me the coat.
"Your mother told me to bring you a coat. She said you wouldn't be wearing one."
He continued on past me while I stood there holding the coat. How did she know when I took off my coat?
I could be on the top of the Himalayas with a team of other climbers on a six-month climb, but the minute I'd slip off my coat, well, look over there! Who is that climbing rapidly up the slope toward us? Why, it's my mother, bringing me a coat. She has a sixth sense, a cosmic ability, or maybe she's embedded a microchip in me somewhere, to sense my coat-wearing status.
I put the coat in my car. Later she showed up at the yard sale bundled up in a wool jacket and scarf even though by then it was a sunny 75 degrees. Obviously, her radar works well. She spotted me across the field, then yelled at me, "Linda, why aren't you wearing the coat I sent with Bob?"
But then, right before I answered, she saw a new problem - one involving her descendants. Bar Mitzvahzilla and Daughter standing there. No coats.