It was the night before the test and she hadn't studied at all. She appealed to her mother; if she would take her out of school the next day, just for an hour, maybe two, she would study and be ready, this would never, ever happen again.
My grandmother begrudgingly agreed and wrote a note asking the school to please excuse my aunt for a dentist appointment. When Mimi arrived at the school the registrar kindly reminded her that Lynda would need a signed note from the doctor to be admitted back to school. "Of course" said my grandmother.
They raced home. Mimi phoned the dentist; if he could see her there would time for a quick, yet unnecessary cleaning, with a small window of time left to actually study. He could not see her, he was on vacation. Mimi explained that it was an urgent matter, was there anyone else? His partner had time, next week, routine cleanings rarely being time sensitive. The next door neighbor's brother was a dentist, he could clean Lynda's teeth, but his office was on the other side of Dallas, at least a 2o minute drive.
A race across Dallas, a 30 minute cleaning with a new dentist, a bill to pay, a slow return trip and an exhausted Lynda returned to school, signed note in hand, teeth glowing, having not spent one minute studying.
Told to me, I would assume, to illustrate the importance of always telling the truth. What I heard, the absolute value of the little white lie when you end up with a wonderful story.
NorthSideFour: You're never too old, too wacky, too wild, to pick up a book and read to a child. Dr. Suess
Showing posts with label Lynda. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Lynda. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Happy Father's Day
Her father called her Dutch and she adored him. He was older and tall, the consummate father who returned at the end of the day to an orderly home, a loving wife, a son, and one precious daughter.
Dad called me Boo. Saturday mornings were the best part of the week: breakfast at Sydney's, haircuts and car washes, time spent in the uninterrupted adoration of my father who always gave in and sat at the counter.
Mary comes by it naturally, following her mother and great aunt in her all consuming love for her dad. She squeals "DAD" when he walks in a room and for a minute or two there is no one else in the world.
Happy Father's Day, that every little girl should be so lucky.
Dad called me Boo. Saturday mornings were the best part of the week: breakfast at Sydney's, haircuts and car washes, time spent in the uninterrupted adoration of my father who always gave in and sat at the counter.
Mary comes by it naturally, following her mother and great aunt in her all consuming love for her dad. She squeals "DAD" when he walks in a room and for a minute or two there is no one else in the world.
Happy Father's Day, that every little girl should be so lucky.
Image courtesy of Clive Reedman, Flickr
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