Fleeting Whizzz-dom
Now, I'm sure you know that I have always put Old Man first in my life. And his family always came after that. I never turned down an invitation, never missed a nephew or niece's wedding, was always ready, able, and willing to do whatever I could to make Old Mans' parents happy and comfortable. And so I was horrified when I almost killed Old Man, Sr. There was not enough life insurance on him for it to have occurred any other way than accidental.
There was a time before seat-belt laws. I know it's hard to believe, but there was a time when I was young and stupid. Also believe it or not, there was a time before cell phones and Internet. I'm almost embarrassed to write this story. But, here goes . . .
Once upon a time, I was traveling in a pickup truck with Old Man, Sr. and three small children. I drove while Old Man, Sr. rode shot gun and the three children rode between us, all of us gleefully free of any encumbrances such as silly old seat belts.
About an hour into the trip, Senior announced his need to "take a whiz."
"OK, we're five miles from the next exit, I'll stop there."
"No! Pull this truck over, I got to go NOW!"
Well, my goodness, when someone yells like that, you naturally pull over as quickly as possible, which I did, not noticing where we were or the lay of the land.
I threw the truck in 'Park', looked over at Senior, intending to assure him I was coming around to help him. The door already stood open and Senior was getting out of the truck. First he was there, then he was gone.
I lifted up in my seat to see where he went and caught sight of a cigar-shaped figure rolling down a steep, grassy embankment. For one tiny, almost imperceptible second, I was torn between staying with the children until help came and running down the hill to help Senior. A five, a four and a two year old left in the cab of a pickup truck is a recipe for disaster. But, I made my decision quickly, barked order to the five year old to not touch or allow to be touched anything in the truck except the unbelted seats the children were sitting on. On pain of death. Sometimes I marvel that this son still speaks to me.
Secure in the thought that my children had a 50% chance of not killing themselves in the truck, I ran down the hill to see about Old Man, Senior, fully aware I'd have to make a phone call to my dear husband informing him that I killed his father.
Thankfully, Old Man, Senior, head shaking in embarrassment, crawled to his knees. I helped him stand to his full height, asking if he were alright. What had he hurt? He rolled so fast down the hill, I knew a heart attack was imminent.
On our climb back up the hill, I determined the only damage done was to his ego. Thank goodness, I didn't have to call his son.
There was a time before seat-belt laws. I know it's hard to believe, but there was a time when I was young and stupid. Also believe it or not, there was a time before cell phones and Internet. I'm almost embarrassed to write this story. But, here goes . . .
Once upon a time, I was traveling in a pickup truck with Old Man, Sr. and three small children. I drove while Old Man, Sr. rode shot gun and the three children rode between us, all of us gleefully free of any encumbrances such as silly old seat belts.
About an hour into the trip, Senior announced his need to "take a whiz."
"OK, we're five miles from the next exit, I'll stop there."
"No! Pull this truck over, I got to go NOW!"
Well, my goodness, when someone yells like that, you naturally pull over as quickly as possible, which I did, not noticing where we were or the lay of the land.
I threw the truck in 'Park', looked over at Senior, intending to assure him I was coming around to help him. The door already stood open and Senior was getting out of the truck. First he was there, then he was gone.
I lifted up in my seat to see where he went and caught sight of a cigar-shaped figure rolling down a steep, grassy embankment. For one tiny, almost imperceptible second, I was torn between staying with the children until help came and running down the hill to help Senior. A five, a four and a two year old left in the cab of a pickup truck is a recipe for disaster. But, I made my decision quickly, barked order to the five year old to not touch or allow to be touched anything in the truck except the unbelted seats the children were sitting on. On pain of death. Sometimes I marvel that this son still speaks to me.
Secure in the thought that my children had a 50% chance of not killing themselves in the truck, I ran down the hill to see about Old Man, Senior, fully aware I'd have to make a phone call to my dear husband informing him that I killed his father.
Thankfully, Old Man, Senior, head shaking in embarrassment, crawled to his knees. I helped him stand to his full height, asking if he were alright. What had he hurt? He rolled so fast down the hill, I knew a heart attack was imminent.
On our climb back up the hill, I determined the only damage done was to his ego. Thank goodness, I didn't have to call his son.
but did he pee his pants?
ReplyDeleteunfortunately, yes. but i didn't want to blog about that. i loved old man, senior!
ReplyDeletei understand that. i just felt the suspense of having to go that badly and then having the p!$$ scared out of you. since the story was about how badly he had to go, you know! i would have peed in my pants for sure!
ReplyDelete