I got the call tonight. The one every parent dreads:
BoyRD: Hey Mama. Whereya at?
Me: I'm at the house. What's up?
BoyRD: Well, first, let me just say, everybody is o--
Me: Holy balls of bat shit, Monkey. You got in an accident? You're okay? (grabbing keys, finding shoes, turning off appliances) You sure you're okay? Positive? Who's the President? When's your birthday? Everybody is okay? Who else is there? Where are you?
BoyRD: I'm at Main and 4th. Yes everything is definitely okay. I was pulling out of the parking lot and she clipped me. She says she's okay. She's really nice. I told her I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I am. She's calling the police. We're okay.
Me: I hear TheBestFriend in the background. Was he with you?
BoyRD: No, but he came back.
(Have I mentioned I love TheBestFriend like he's my own?)
By now four blocks down the street, heading to the scene, admonishments of, "get her information, give her your information, don't leave the scene, be polite or I'll hurt you, and you sure you're okay?" administered, I started to breathe.
I could tell from his voice that while riddled with historic amounts of adrenaline, he was really and truly fine. This knowledge was underscored by TheBestFriend's voice in the background at it's usual calm, cool and collected pitch. I heard no one screaming and no sirens wailing. All I could do now was not get into my own accident.
It got me to thinking. How many times had I done this to my parents as a teenager? How many calls had they gotten? How many times had they heard my name over the scanner before even getting a call? How many nights were they wondering where on God's green Earth I was in the days before tracking devices and cell phones?
I did what any cop's kid would do.
I called my Dad. And I apologized. (Mom? I'll be calling you tomorrow. I knew you were at church.)
When I got there, introductions were made, hands were shaken and vehicles inspected.
Then we spent the next hour standing outside in 45 degree weather, visiting and laughing with the nice lady the BoyRD met by accident. This is Fargo after all, it's how we roll.
And yes, he really, truly and honestly is okay. Humbler, I think, but definitely okay.
BoyRD: Hey Mama. Whereya at?
Me: I'm at the house. What's up?
BoyRD: Well, first, let me just say, everybody is o--
Me: Holy balls of bat shit, Monkey. You got in an accident? You're okay? (grabbing keys, finding shoes, turning off appliances) You sure you're okay? Positive? Who's the President? When's your birthday? Everybody is okay? Who else is there? Where are you?
BoyRD: I'm at Main and 4th. Yes everything is definitely okay. I was pulling out of the parking lot and she clipped me. She says she's okay. She's really nice. I told her I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I am. She's calling the police. We're okay.
Me: I hear TheBestFriend in the background. Was he with you?
BoyRD: No, but he came back.
(Have I mentioned I love TheBestFriend like he's my own?)
By now four blocks down the street, heading to the scene, admonishments of, "get her information, give her your information, don't leave the scene, be polite or I'll hurt you, and you sure you're okay?" administered, I started to breathe.
I could tell from his voice that while riddled with historic amounts of adrenaline, he was really and truly fine. This knowledge was underscored by TheBestFriend's voice in the background at it's usual calm, cool and collected pitch. I heard no one screaming and no sirens wailing. All I could do now was not get into my own accident.
It got me to thinking. How many times had I done this to my parents as a teenager? How many calls had they gotten? How many times had they heard my name over the scanner before even getting a call? How many nights were they wondering where on God's green Earth I was in the days before tracking devices and cell phones?
I did what any cop's kid would do.
I called my Dad. And I apologized. (Mom? I'll be calling you tomorrow. I knew you were at church.)
When I got there, introductions were made, hands were shaken and vehicles inspected.
Then we spent the next hour standing outside in 45 degree weather, visiting and laughing with the nice lady the BoyRD met by accident. This is Fargo after all, it's how we roll.
And yes, he really, truly and honestly is okay. Humbler, I think, but definitely okay.
1 comment:
UgH...I DREAD the day I start getting calls like this from Lucy!
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