April 26 '03
Volume 360
Locked
Out Examine Technology Closely
I don't
remember the exact reason my daughter and her two youngest girls
came to visit us a few weekends ago. It only matters that she came. I've
learned that Rayanne may change her mind in midstream, so it's hard to adjust
my plans to fit her schedule. She's apt to arrive on a Friday afternoon,
eat supper, then stay until her husband gets off work in Tupelo, gather up
her brood, and drive back to Belmont. But, it's an even chance she'll spend
the night, and even if she brings the necessary items for overnight, it's
never a sure thing.
Some Friday evenings my driveway looks like a used car lot and cars at the
front of the lineup are often at the mercy of those blocking them from leaving.
It was probably a blocking situation that prompted Rayanne to hand me the
keys to her van as we exited the house to find an automobile to take us to
the grocery store, though the specific evening may not have been a Friday.
I don't recall why we stopped by Aunt Jo's house on the way to the grocery
store, either. I just remember leaving the key in the ignition after turning
the motor off. That's not something I ordinarily do, as I habitually lock
my car whenever it's not parked in my driveway, and I never, never, leave
the keys in the car and then go inside the house. Okay, I'm not counting
warming up the car in the wintertime to defrost the windshield, but excluding
those occasions it's a never.
I remember telling Rayanne, at the time, I was leaving the keys in the car.
I think I did so because I don't like carrying additional keys in a pocket
already filled with keys, nail clippers, and loose change.
Since we only needed a few items from the grocery store, Rayanne and her
two girls stayed in the van after I coaxed Barbara to go inside with me.
Again, I left the keys inside the van, because I presumed Rayanne might want
to turn the air conditioner on if we were gone longer than expected. I should
have known she couldn't stay put for five minutes.
Sure enough, Barbara and I were about to head down the first aisle when I
looked back to see Rayanne, Merilese, and Katherine coming in the front door.
We waited for them to catch up with us.
"You do have the car keys, don't you?" Rayanne asked, looking me squarely
in the eye.
"Well, no, I don't," I responded in an exasperated tone. "I thought you were
staying in the van."
Our conversation was about to escalate into a shouting match when Candy Robinson
strolled up with her basket, cheerfully greeted us, and asked, "How is everyone
today."
"Not too good," I heard myself saying. "We're in the middle of a family feud."
After hearing our situation, Candy loaned us her cell phone in order for
Rayanne to call Anson at work to find out the whereabouts of the extra set
of keys. They were back in Belmont, he told her, so it did not seem advisable
to strike out to Belmont (70 miles away) to get them, plus we had to first
get back to my house. Candy was most sympathetic and helpful, offering to
take us home if necessary. However, instead of accepting her generosity,
we elected to find someone to open the van.
I went to the office of the store and asked for the number of a locksmith
and was told to contact a local wrecker service. Using a phone near the customer
service window, I talked to someone who assured me help would be on the scene
in a matter of minutes. Barbara had finished gathering up whatever it was
we had stopped to buy and was in the checkout lane when the locksmith arrived
and Rayanne went outside to confirm he had located the right van.
Meanwhile, Barbara summoned me to pay for the groceries. As I looked up,
I saw the locksmith driving away. Rayanne was about to buckle Katherine into
her car seat when Barbara and I walked outside.
"How'd he do that so quick?" I questioned, using less than perfect grammar
and wondering if the locksmith had some sort of keyless universal remote
device to unlock vehicles.
The sheepish smile on my daughter's face told a different story.
"It wasn't locked," she confessed. "I locked the door when I got out, but
I think I remember now that this van has a safety feature so that with the
key in the ignition, the doors won't lock."
It's in moments like these that I wonder how two dark-haired, dark-eyed parents
could produce a blond-haired, blue-eyed daughter. In ages past, suspicious
minds and wagging tongues conjured up many a different explanation for such
a rare occurrence, but, these days, geneticists say it's the result of a
recessive gene. It's also in moments like these that I don't discount the
validity of all blond jokes.
"I offered to pay him for coming up here," Rayanne explained, "but he wouldn't
take any money."
Not completely convinced of the vehicle's safety feature, I tested it once
everyone was inside. Sure enough, if the key is in the ignition when the
driver's side door lock is engaged, the lock disengages as soon as the door
shuts.
I'm not the most sympathetic person you've ever met when it comes to keys
locked inside a vehicle. I figure if I can carry a spare key for my car inside
my billfold to use in such an emergency other folks can do similarly. Some
folks hide a key in a magnetic key holder and fasten it to the underside
of their car. Some women keep a spare automobile key inside their purse.
I only had to lock my keys inside a car once to learn a valuable lesson in
preparedness.
Only a couple of weeks would pass until Rayannes propensity to lock
herself out of her van would resurface. This time, she was at her home in
Belmont. She insists that Katherine pressed the door lock as she was being
taken from her car seat. Katherine remains mum on the subject. I tend to
believe Rayannes account since Katherine has pushed a lot of buttons
of late, including some important ones at my house. After powering down my
computers, a few weeks ago, she is temporarily banned from the computer room.
Her Nana is more lenient. Two weeks ago Katherine turned off our Bunn
coffeemaker, and no one discovered it until cold water started filtering
through the coffee. She still has the run of the kitchen.
Unfortunately, for Rayanne, both sets of keys were locked inside the van.
I heard this tale second hand from my wife, so I dont know why one
set was not kept somewhere else, and Barbara didnt explain how the
spare set came to be inside the van. One thing is now certain; the safety
feature noted earlier does not apply to locks being activated from the passenger
side or door other than that of the driver.
Apparently my preaching the gospel regarding having a spare key in a safe
place has fallen on rocky ground. My example has gone unheeded, but I shall
not falter. Nay, I shall stay the course and continue to preach "spare" as
the means by which we must be saved, at least from ourselves.
Oh, let it be noted that the Belmont police still aid damsels in distress
who find themselves locked out of their vehicles.
Runaway Something
To Cry About
Did you ever run away from home as a child? How about as a teen? I didnt,
but thats not to say I never considered it. My parents didnt
treat me cruelly, but they surely didnt cater to my every whim, which
to a child may seem cruel.
I dont recall a specific time when I considered running away from home,
but Im sure I had more than one such thought. However, I was either
too practical or else lacked the courage to try to make my own way in the
world without first gleaning all the learning I could from my parents and
finishing my education.
When I turned twenty-one, a friend at work and I rented an apartment in Tupelo
for a few months. As far as my mother was concerned, I had run away from
home. She didnt understand the need for me to live somewhere else as
long as I was unmarried, and Im reasonably certain she never forgave
me for it either. Mom can thank the local draft board for getting me back
home and my finishing college. Had the Vietnam Conflict not been raging at
the time, I might have continued to work in Tupelo.
Mom never ran away from home, either, but she threatened to quite often.
Perhaps, if Dad had been more inclined to take the family on vacations, Mom
might not have felt such a great desire to run away. If Mom had ever learned
to drive a car, she might have struck out on her own, but I doubt it. And,
even if she had left, shed have never stayed gone for more than a few
days. Her domestic or mothering side would have driven her back home.
Maybe, my mobility keeps me from having the "trapped" feelings that plagued
my mother. Maybe, the fact that my family took an occasional vacation is
what allowed me to "get away from it all" long enough to appreciate what
it was I would soon be "getting back to." The older I get the less I care
about "getting away from it all," though I think Barbara would love for us
to retire in Destin, Fl, and she most certainly would like to vacation there
at least once a year. Meanwhile, Ill try to see to it that she gets
away often enough to maintain a reasonable state of sanity.
I have three granddaughters whose ages are fifteen, five, and two. Being
my daughters children they are on the go almost as much as their mom.
Merilese is the five-year old and when she was younger, I got the impression
she didnt like coming to my house. She came in the door crying and
she left the same way. She also spent what I felt was an inordinate amount
of time crying while she was with us. She seemed such an unhappy child. She
seemed a prime candidate for running away from home, except for her age.
More accurately, she seemed a prime candidate for what my dad called, "having
something to cry about." Dad was a big believer in paddling one of us when
it seemed we were crying for no apparent reason.
His, "If you dont stop that crying, Ill give you something to
cry about," was a pretty good deterrent for any endless wailings he might
have heard from us.
I cant speak for all my siblings, but I was a fast learner in that
when Dad threatened to spank me for crying I could find a way to stop.
Im sure my daughter and son were similarly threatened by their father,
too, and I imagine my daughter has been guilty of perpetuating this family
tradition with her children. In fact, last Saturday morning, Rayanne became
exasperated with Merilese, spanked her and sent her to her room with the
instructions to stay there until she could stop crying.
Meanwhile, Rayanne grabbed a quick bath for herself. The phone rang before
she had dried off completely, and she answered it to hear the voice of a
concerned neighbor, Mr. Floyd.
Mr. Floyd told Rayanne he had seen Merilese in front of a dog pen across
the road from his house. She left there on her bicycle, waved at him, then
rode to the end of the street and headed down the highway.
Believing Merilese had run away from home, she hastily dressed while barking
orders at Katherine to head for the van, explaining to a confused two-year
old that Merilese was on her bicycle on a dangerous highway and they had
to go get her. Rayanne was almost to the carport door when Merilese, responding
to all the commotion, stepped into the hallway from her room and asked what
was going on. A greatly relieved Rayanne, tearfully explained the phone call
to her would-be runaway daughter.
"Mother," Merilese admonished, "I would never ride my bike on the highway
without an adult with me."
I dont know if anyone knows who the little girl was that was mistaken
for Merilese, but Rayanne told us, Mr. Floyd was very apologetic for having
upset her. Yet, his was a forgivable mistake and had his identification been
accurate his neighborly vigilance might have saved the life of a runaway.
A Honda Buy
American
Easter morning, as I made my way across the street from my parked car toward
First Baptist Church, John Edward Sewell was leaving Sunday School. As we
greeted one another, John Edward calmly stated, "Lets check out Max
Akins new car."
I glanced in the direction of several men congregated on the sidewalk, none
of whom seemed particularly interested in a car, but John Edward pointed
out a nearby automobile with a sunroof, the only one with a sunroof that
I could see, and elaborated, "That gold colored one with the bubble or whatever
you call it on top. Max has bought himself a Honda."
I chose not to check out the new car. It wasnt because of jealousy,
but I couldnt bear to look at Maxs new car for other reasons.
The thought of the son-in-law of the late Lehman Carpenter driving a Honda
was horrid enough, and I hoped to avoid spoiling my Easter Day altogether
by not inspecting his newly purchased foreign car. Mr. Carpenter was a Ford
man. In fact, he owned the Ford dealership in Pontotoc for a great many years,
and Max had worked for the Ford dealership.
I found it hard to reconcile what I had just learned, much as one might have
difficulty believing John Wayne got killed at the end of a Western movie,
or that Simon and Garfunkel split up, or that Elvis was dead. Some things
just defy comprehension.
Because Max and I attend different morning worship services at the same church,
I had to wait until Sunday night to question him about his purchase.
"I cant believe it. Max Akins bought a Honda! Whats this world
coming to?" I questioned. "A Ford man, like you, and now youve gone
and bought a foreign car. Why didnt you just get a Mercedes?"
He hemmed, and he hawed; he looked sheepish and slightly embarrassed by my
ribbing, but I was enjoying the moment.
"Well, you know, Mr. Carpenter never did forgive me for buying an Oldsmobile
after we sold the Ford place," he confessed and he must have surely envisioned
his late father-in-law turning over in his grave.
"But a Honda?" I continued, unmercifully and unrelentingly.
"Well, all my children have one, so you know
" he stammered.
"Thats sort of backwards; isnt it Max? Its supposed to
be like father
like son, not the other way around." I pressed.
He took my teasing good-naturedly but welcomed the opportunity to change
the subject as someone else walked up and spoke to us.
Max and I are still friends. He has his priorities and I have mine. That
our taste in automobiles differs has nothing to do with our respect for one
another. Thats a good thing.
He drives a Honda because he can afford to drive one. In fact, he can afford
to drive most any car of his choosing. I drive a Ford, not because I like
it, or because I am a dedicated Ford man, but because thats what Supervalu
provides for me in the way of a company car, but I surely hope Supervalu
doesnt choose Honda anytime soon.
Bodock Beau
Another Little Johnny Story
The premise of "No Child Left Behind" is a noble, albeit futile, effort to
educate the masses. As a practical matter, there will always be uneducable
individuals, but the politicians don't yet know it. Consider Little Johnny.
A sixth grade class is doing some spelling drills. The teacher asks Tommy
if he can spell 'before.'
He stands up and says, "Before, B-E-P-H-O-R."
The teacher says, "No, that's wrong. Can anyone else spell before?"
Another little boy stands up and says, "Before, B-E-F-O-O-R."
Again the teacher says, "No, that's wrong." The teacher asks, "Little Johnny,
can you spell 'before'?"
Little Johnny stands up and says, "Before, B-E-F-O-R-E."
"Excellent Johnny, now can you use it in a sentence?"
Little Johnny says, "That's easy. Two plus two be fore."
Submitted by Larry Young
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