Published Tuesday, April 22, 2008 5:40 PM
Updated Tuesday, April 22, 2008 5:41 PM

 

The Baileys 04/23/08

Which reminded me of a story…


A pair of nearly nine-year old feet went stomping up towards their bedroom last week, and a huffy voice tumbled down the steps in their wake. “I can’t wait until I’m old enough where it doesn’t matter what you think!”

Which reminded me of a story…

The phone rang at Tara’s grandmother’s house. The voice on the other end sounded worried and annoyed at the same time.

“Betty..? This is Mother. Have you seen Billy? He was supposed to be here today.”

At 101 years old, Betty’s mother lived by herself in North, SC, and had only recently submitted to giving up the car keys and depending on anyone else for anything. A recent and troubling tendency towards falling down had forced her hand. There was no helping it. But she would not agree to hire “some woman to come sit on my couch and read the paper all day.” She had a daughter in Columbia and a son (Billy) in Aiken who could easily take turns dropping by a couple of times a week to help her run errands or go to the doctor or the beauty parlor.

But now the son had not arrived for his scheduled visit.  She was worried because, after all, he was nearly 80, and something might have happened to him on the way from Aiken.

“I haven’t seen him, Mother. Have you called down there?”

She had, and her phone calls to his house had not produced any information. Billy lives on one end of his house and his wife, Aunt Martha, lives on the other. He goes down to the country club to play cards sometimes, but mostly spends his days in his La Z  Boy, watching the golf channel and smoking. It is not unusual for the two of them to go several days without meaningful communication. Besides, Martha was visiting one of their daughters and so no one had answered the phone.

“I’ll see if I can find him for you, Mother.”  She hung up and dialed the number in Aiken. After several rings, someone picked up the line. It was Billy’s teen-aged grandson, Little Sherman.

“He can’t come to the phone right now…” said Little Sherman, clearly nervous…he’s sick….he’s not feeling well…Besides, he had to go out for a minute.” And he hung up.

Betty put the phone down and sat looking at it, gathering her thoughts before she called her mother back. She was just about to dial the number, but the phone rang before she could pick it up.

“It’s me.  Sherman said you called. Is something wrong with Mama?”  

Betty could tell that Billy was not sick and he was not in his house in his La Z Boy watching the golf channel with a cigarette. She could hear a confusion of electronic bells jingling in the background.  She reminded him that he was supposed to be in North taking his mother to her hair appointment. “Billy, where ARE you?”

 “Um….Don’t tell Mama. But……I’m in Las Vegas…. Susan and Henry came out here on business and I thought it sounded fun, so I came along. Don’t tell Martha, either. She doesn’t need to know.”

Billy’s voice was a little too loud, a ball of guilt disguised in a suit of bravado, like a teenager getting caught sneaking in after curfew. “Besides, I told Little Sherman where I was, so it isn’t like nobody knew. I just didn’t want Mama to know. She might not approve…”

Tara and I think the idea of an 80-year-old man afraid to tell his mother that he is going to Las Vegas is one of the funniest things we ever heard about. But daughter-number-one’s stomp-punctuated proclamation shook loose another layer to that story.

So, my love, you are waiting for the day when Mama and Daddy’s opinions don’t influence your actions? Well, if you are like the rest of us, you’ve got a long wait ahead of you.