Just go home


I probably don't have a chance in hell, but here is my entry into a contest that I saw on Jeanette's (of Musings of a Middleaged Woman) new blog: Competizione, where she finds and keeps track of all sorts of contests - stop over and check it out, you won't be disappointed - there's something for everyone!

As I negotiated my way out of the Dunkin Donuts drive-thru, setting out for my eleven year old son’s way too early Sunday morning game, I reached down to make sure that I had the Map quest directions. I headed out the main highway of our one horse town and onto a major highway and got off at the exit on the directions. This is where my son took over reading the directions: “ok, go 1/10 of miles” (1/10 of a mile! - you’re kidding me, right?), “take a left on Wilson St.” (There is no Wilson St! Ok, whoa, stop) I pull off into the next gas station before we go any further. Sheepishly I approach the cashier, doing my best to pay attention to her directions and since they sound simplistic and straight-forward enough I confidently stride back to the car and head back in the direction that I came from. As I pass where I got off the highway in the first place, I sigh and say,” I still don’t see any damn Willow St.”

As soon as I can turn around again I do and not being one to give up quickly, I march myself into yet another convenience store. Five minutes later, I am still lost, downhearted and now reduced to tears. My son gallantly is letting me off the hook as he tells me, “Mom its ok, we can just go home.” As we are passing the bigger than life Foxboro for the third time, I think to myself - no more convenience stores.

This time I say to the couple that have stopped in the middle of a side street for me and have kindly rolled down their window to direct me, “just get me to Norton, I’ll stop for directions to the field when I get there.” It appears that the direction g-ds have decided to take pity on me (or more likely my son – poor kid with the wacko crying mother) and we cruise into the town. It somehow occurs to me as I enter the antique shop that I might wish I was back on the main thoroughfare. The woman sitting behind the counter is frail, on oxygen and looking at me over her wire frames. While she is formulating the directions, I can’t help but think -will we ever make the game?

Ok, we’re in the homestretch now; I can feel it in my bones, I can almost smell that football field (or is that cow manure?) We pull into the parking lot with just minutes to spare. My son sprints off in the direction of his team, I let out a big sigh and take a sip of my cold coffee, knowing full well that it’s far from over. I still have to get us home; but then I remember that ice cream stand that we will have to pass on the way back home and finally - I smile.


Patry Francis said...

You made the drive there as thrilling as the sporting event. I was rooting for you all the way. And I love the way LUke's sweetness shines through--as always.

Sky said...

great post - what a trip! hope he won the game and that the ice cream was worth the drive. :)

MB said...

Thank goodness for ice cream! Your son's spirit is a shining light in this story.

Mary said...