Dead in a Ditch

When I was growing up, these were words I often heard out of mom's mouth. "Call me when you get there so I know you aren't dead in a ditch somewhere."

It was so much easier to just let mom know where I was than to face her fury and wrath upon arriving at home after a fun night out with friends. It was weird though, I seemed to be the only one that headed for a telephone when we got to friends' houses. But, as long as she knew where I was and who I was with, I didn't really have to worry too much about unreasonable curfews.

The first time I drove into a ditch (flat ditch, NW Iowa, ice on the road), her words were the first thing that entered my mind. Fortunately a station wagon filled with husky football players pulled up and lifted my little car out of the snow and back onto the road. I wasn't dead in that ditch.

Yesterday, I lay down to take a nap after church and knew that Leica would wake me up when Max got home from church and lunch with his buddy. At 3:00 I jolted awake, panic rushed through me. Max wasn't home! I had expected him at 1:30 - 2:00 at the latest. I flew up and out of bed, trying desperately to force my head to shake off the cobwebs so that I could remember what he had told me.

I tried calling his cell phone. No response. I texted him. No response. Oh no!! What could have happened? I was still fuzzy enough I couldn't remember his friend's last name. I ensured that he actually had his cell phone with him and yes, but the work cell was still there. Whew, maybe there were phone numbers in there I could get.

I finally got through to his buddy. As soon as I identified myself, he said, "Just a sec," and handed the phone to Max. Pure relief. I decided that 'mad' wasn't necessary at that point. And Max's phone is falling apart. It's a problem we'll fix this week.

Moral of the story? No matter how old you are ... call. Then, we don't worry.