My sister and her friend Shanley were running down an alleyway. Why, you ask? Why not, was their response. I'm not entirely sure of all the particulars in the case but this I do know: Bethany's shoes were slightly loose on her feet.
Imagine, if you will, my sister tripping and diving forward onto the gravelly pavement of the alleyway corridor. I have. Several times.
She is alive, we can all rejoice, but her arm is a little worse for wear.
Story 2:
My dad plays tennis; is rather skilled actually. In other words, I will never win a match against him until he is in a wheelchair - and maybe not even then. He passes on his knowledge by giving lessons and was doing one day, about a couple months ago.
Picture a shopping cart full of tennis balls, let's say two hundred. Now picture it tipping over an unseen curb, which also tripped up my dad, and trapping him between its wiry frame and the chain-linked fence behind him.
Oh how the scattered tennis balls must've rejoiced in their freedom and laughed at the man who clumsily bestowed it.
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As a sidenote, I don't offer these little anecdotes as a way of making fun, rather, they are a very serious endeavor to present my own sometimes-confused equilibrium in their proper familial light.
1 comment:
Love it love it love it and I'm glad you don't have a story on me...you don't, right? I am always amazed at your writing ability. I just love to read what you write. Love you.
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