The wheels just keep on turning

"Is she ever sad?" I asked. "In class?"

Nothing.

The Elder Boy gave me a look that was so coy my Lovely Bride said to me, "That's a look of denial."

I nodded my head in agreement as she walked out of the room.

The Elder Boy's coy smile made me think of a guy I haven't thought of in over twenty five years. John T. His Dad died when we were in second grade.

"You know, when I was in second grade," I said, "I had a teacher named Mrs. Lear who was old and mean. There was a kid in my class. His Dad died that year. One day we did something in class that made him sad and he started to cry. At some point he got up and went to the front of the class, and climbed up onto Mrs. Lear's lap, and cried for a long time while she held him. I think she even cried some. After that I didn't think she was so mean anymore."

Nothing. Just that coy smile.

"I can still remember that like it was yesterday," I said mainly to myself. "And I was your age."

The night before at a PTA Chili Cook-Off the Elder Boy had been running crazy in the gym with a little girl in hot pursuit. There was no doubt that this little girl was sweet on the Boy. I watched them running amok as The Little Warrior and I played his version of basketball. Every time E and the girl ran by I was struck by the fact that this little girl looked like someone I knew. Only I couldn't quite place who.

Later that evening while eating entry #10's chili it dawned on me that the little girl looked like the young daughter of one of my olden golden friends. A guy I grew up with in Sand Springs and later lived with in Dallas. This little girl chasing E all over the gym looked like his little girl, who looked a lot like my friend did when we were kids living in the same neighborhood.

Later still, while eating entry #12's chili my Lovely Bride walked by so I asked, "Who's the little girl chasing E all over the gym?"

"That's (Insert the Little girl's name,)" she said.

Weird, i thought. Not only does she look like my friend's daughter, they have the same first name.

I was about to share all of this with My Lovely Bride when she said something that stopped me cold.

"She's the one whose Mom just died of cancer."

Fuck me.

My friend, who has the daughter who looks like, and shares the same name as this little girl lost his Mom to cancer when we were in grade school.

I still remember when we heard his Mom had died. We were on vacation in Steam Boat Springs, Colorado when someone from our neighborhood who worked with my Mom called and told us.

Losing his Mom, defined my friend, in many ways, for years.

Much Later still, I was back in the gym with all of the kids, while Wy shot baskets and E played happily with this little girl. I was looking at her as she ran by when my Lovely Bride walked up from behind and put her arms around me.

"I wondered who that handsome man nice enough to be in here with all the kids was," she said into my ear.

Nothing. Unlike the Elder Boy though, my version of nothing comes with a head nod of acknowledgement.

"(Insert our Friend from this Entry) mentioned she got a shout out on the BLOG," My Lovely Bride said.

"Really?"

"Yeah. I hadn't been on the BLOG in awhile."

"Oh." I said.

This BLOG is funny. My Lovely Bride hits it sporadically, to see what I've been putting out there for the world to read. However we don't talk about it around the house all that much. Most of the time she knows the story, having lived it. Then there are the times My Lovely Bride learns what I was thinking or feeling in a situation the same as you, right there, right now, reading this entry does.

"(Insert our Friend from this Entry) said she shared the BLOG with a friend who lost her Mom to cancer when she was young," she said.

Nothing. Just the nod.

"It's the same I guess. Whether you are four. Or six. Or..."

41, I thought to myself.

"...You never really get over it. It stays with you. It gets easier. But you never get all the way over it," she said.

Nothing. Just the nod and a coy smile that I'm sure was a carbon copy of the one the Elder Boy would give me the next morning.

Until I BLOG again...The drummer begins to drum .