What a Sunday this has been


Striking, isn’t it? The day started with this incredible sight, and it took my breath away. There was no choice but to stop a moment to lose myself in the wonder. A great truth was spoken, and the earth celebrated.

A tearfully frantic call woke me this morning, bright and early. A car was being towed for lack of proof of insurance. Frantic, sobbing, whining girlfriend. I’ve made the same mistake, drove around with things not quite up to date, so I knew what it would take to fix. Or, so I thought. It seems there’s a monthly quota to meet for ticket writing, and my son and his girlfriend were nabbed red-handed. The result wasn’t a slap on the wrist. No. It was a citation and an impound. Talk about overkill. The car was insured; there just wasn’t that little ol’ piece of paper to be shown. Even with the insurance company itself on the phone, there was no stopping that tow and impound – with a hefty price tag to go along with the experience.

So, the insurance company emails the ID, I got into the account and print it up (slowly, too dang slowly, thanks to a very slow Internet connection compliments of AT&T), rushed to get the dogs out while the ID downloaded, took a few shots of the amazing rainbow, and threw on clothes while the ID was printing. Out the door I ran, Jake along for the ride, and kept to the speed limit while I rushed to beat the tow truck’s arrival.

Too late. I passed the tow truck with the car aboard about 50 feet from where Tim and his girlfriend were standing. So, I had my say.

“Do you understand that by impounding these kids’ car that they may lose their jobs because they don’t have transportation? What is so important to pay such a price for the lack of proof of insurance? Here it is.”

I got the standard response: “It’s the law. You must always have proof in the car.”

He turned out to be a nice, geeky kind of cop with no attitude, and I thanked him for that, if nothing else. Who knows? Maybe I nudged him enough to follow his dream of joining the FBI and getting his Quantico application in. I hope he does before his “niceness” gets him in trouble.

Tim decided he wanted to come to my house, and I was happy to oblige. He was exhausted, stressed and keeping it all inside as usual. I asked him if he felt like taking on a few little projects. The gate to the back yard needed to be lowered to prevent further Saki and Hiro escapes, and if that wasn’t something he wanted to do, then perhaps switching the handles on the refrigerator would do instead. He said no to both, and that was ok. I knew he was tired. After I made a pot of coffee, he asked me where the tools were.

Ever since Tim figured out how to move on his own, he’d walk. He’d walk around and around and around. If there wasn’t something to walk around, he’d just walk in circles in whatever room he was in. If his feet are moving, his brain is working. But, I don’t think he’s done that since he moved away from home. I figured his wanting to get doing something was something he needed to do. He needed to move to let his brain work. Out the back door he went with the tool box in hand.

He went above and beyond. Measure this, wiggled that, loosened and tightened, then loosened and tightened again when it wasn’t quite right.

“Hey, I need to do it right. I need to have pride in a job well done,” he said to my astonishment. And it’s perfect. Perfectly perfect. Now, come and have a cup of coffee and relax. Nope. More tools and more unscrewing and screwing to the refrigerator, and this time, I joined him on the floor, splay legged and wielding allen wrenches and screw drivers. Once again, it wasn’t quite right, and once again, he did it over. And it’s perfect. Perfectly perfect.

It took Tim’s girlfriend’s mother an hour to drive down. The car was registered to her, so she was the only one that could get it out of impound. If freed from its prison today, it would cost $135. If the kids waited until payday, it would be $35 a day added on. In the end, it took 3 parents’ worth of digging to come up with the bail money.

And that meant a whole lot of people in my house. My little house. My little clean house. Ah, how fleeting clean is. Mom and girlfriend head over to the impound yard and I got to cook up some breakfast for Tim. It’s the first time he and I have spent any time together alone since he moved away from home. A little bit of a heart-to-heart did us both good. I nudged him, just a little, to look forward, just like I did with the cop. I saw that little light come on at the end of his tunnel, and I felt glad for him. The dogs enjoyed what he couldn’t eat of his breakfast. His nerves were too frazzled to eat much.

Time came to head to the impound yard. Almost there, I realized I forgot my checkbook. The trip back to the house for the forgotten checkbook ended with yet another trip to the ATM and back to the impound yard. Spinning. It had to be cash.Spinning in circles. But, all is well that ends well. The kids have their car and no worry about getting to work tonight. Yes, the newly printed insurance card is in the glove compartment.

It wasn’t Tim’s crisis, but he bore the weight of it anyway.

I’m proud of my boy. He has become a striking person that managed to take my breath away today. There’s the great truth of the morning’s rainbow.
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