In Spades

It's really too bad my mom isn't able to be a blogger. She'd whoop my stories. She's got me beat in spades...

While I was attending one of the oodles of kindergartens I attended as a lad, my mother dropped me by my grandparents to visit my sister just before Christmas. Don, the man I dubbed Aflack, and my mother seem to have had some business to tend to. It was convenient to live me in the charge of someone else. Especially being that I enjoyed my sister's company, and she mine.

I believe it was December 8th, a Saturday...? I could figure out the year I suppose. Or I could just call my mom... Nah! Anyways, a cop comes to our door. I don't recall the flow of that particular grapevine. I was hiding from the cops, as trained. I think it was: grandfather, grandmother, sister, then me. The scene was familiar. As my grandfather knelt down beside me, my sister laid her hand on my back and my grandmother softened her eyes. I burst into tears.

My mother had been sitting in the front seat of a Chevy Nova. On her right, Aflack. On her left, the drunken owner of the car. On top of them? The trailer of an 18 wheeler. Thank God it was parked. The driver, as Don, suffered no injuries worth mentioning. My mom, on the other hand, had been crushed between the two men when the car slammed its side into the truck. Nobody had been wearing seat belts. In effect, my mom was a packet of ketchup in a wayward child's fist.
Her hips were shattered. To this day, she can barely run, and has internal problems she refuses to speak of.