It's now been six months since Joyce and I waved goodbye to the last of our little runaways. It's been different, neither better nor worse, just different. Of course we miss their cuteness, but the teenage years are still fresh enough that we can easily remember the worried evenings when they'd arrive home long after we wished we were in bed.
I remember one night when our two younger sons (James and Ben) flew off to visit with their big brother Andy in Ohio. Of course, they had a connection in Atlanta which their flight missed. And of course the next flight wasn't until the morning, so they spent the night in a motel near ATL.
Because James and Ben weren't the only stranded passengers on the plane, they invited a stranger of similar age to share a room with them - figuring the room was cheaper if split three ways.
When we called them at 1:00 AM to see if they'd found a room, James (19 years old at that time) reported that 18-year-old brother Ben had gone with their new buddy to the Waffle House. We instructed the responsible son, "Have him call us as soon as he returns."
So at 2:00 AM (3:00 AM Eastern) the newly breakfasted child called and we asked, "So who did you go to the Waffle House with?"
"The dude we're rooming with."
"Does Dude have a name?" I inquired.
Came the answer, "Hey, man, what's your name?"
So, I (mustering my best Robert Young impersonation) counseled, "Ben, go to bed."
But silly me, I'd failed to ask, "Did anyone other than Dude go with you to the Waffle House?" Only after James' and Ben's return to Texas a few days later did Joyce and I learn that Ben had neglected to mention the "babes" that accompanied them to the Waffle House - babes whose names he did know.
I remember one night when our two younger sons (James and Ben) flew off to visit with their big brother Andy in Ohio. Of course, they had a connection in Atlanta which their flight missed. And of course the next flight wasn't until the morning, so they spent the night in a motel near ATL.
Because James and Ben weren't the only stranded passengers on the plane, they invited a stranger of similar age to share a room with them - figuring the room was cheaper if split three ways.
When we called them at 1:00 AM to see if they'd found a room, James (19 years old at that time) reported that 18-year-old brother Ben had gone with their new buddy to the Waffle House. We instructed the responsible son, "Have him call us as soon as he returns."
So at 2:00 AM (3:00 AM Eastern) the newly breakfasted child called and we asked, "So who did you go to the Waffle House with?"
"The dude we're rooming with."
"Does Dude have a name?" I inquired.
Came the answer, "Hey, man, what's your name?"
So, I (mustering my best Robert Young impersonation) counseled, "Ben, go to bed."
But silly me, I'd failed to ask, "Did anyone other than Dude go with you to the Waffle House?" Only after James' and Ben's return to Texas a few days later did Joyce and I learn that Ben had neglected to mention the "babes" that accompanied them to the Waffle House - babes whose names he did know.
6 comments:
Sometimes it is better not to know.....
I agree with Jerry.
They have never been big on names.
There are still things I haven't told my parents. It would make them cringe. It makes me cringe now. My, how busy our angels must been when we are teens... ;-)
-J
Seeker--
You know that there are things your parents haven't told you about their foolishness when they were young, right?
That wise gray head on your dad took a few hard knocks.
Oh yes. And I have suspected that a few of the stories I *have* been told have been a bit edited. This is why it's good to know his sibs! :-)
And BTW, I'd like to apologize for the GLARING and numerous grammatical errors in that last comment. That's what I get for trying to hurry... Ack!
:-)
-J
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