There were storm warnings all over the place. First in the gray-blue eyes; next in the toss of her chin and lastly in the patting foot, while her daddy searched, seemingly in vain, through this, that, and the other pocket of his coat and pants.
Poor Batson, our heart went out to him for we know what it’s like when one’s womenfolks turn the heat on.
In other words, sally Ann was just before becoming annoyed, but all’s well that ends well and papa finally produced the car-key. This was several years ago, possibly in that same era when petite Miss Batson was being crowned Homecoming Queen on a coolish night in Murphy Stadium.
Now there was nothing new about that little drama, wherein the set of a daughter’s chin and the sweat on a parent’s brow were the predominant props. The same looks have been exchanged and the same pressures exerted since the advent of the horseless carriage. It just happens that its enactment took place while we happened along the corridor which runs past that particular parent’s office. And it comes to mind because of recent and tragic accidents involving young people at the wheel of the family car.
For the armchair strategists and the second guessers are saying quote:
“Parent should not permit these youngsters to drive automobiles.”
Granted that such a strategy is sound, but it’s easier to execute on the blueprint than when the battel actually is joined. What would you have done if you had been in the above parent’s place? Probably the same as we would, which would have been the same as he did.
Meanwhile a young friend of ours, still in his teens, approached us a few days ago to mull aloud some ideas that have been running through his head.
“Brodie,” said Riley Arrington Davis, “Do you reckon we could get some civic club to sponsor a ‘Safe Driving Association,’ sort of like the Jaycees signed last year? After all we don’t feel that the young folks should be blamed entirely for all the automobile accidents which are happening.”
Rile the cited and incident of that very morning when he narrowly escaped getting side-swiped by a ground-up who was running a stop sign. He told us the grownup’s name too and, believe it or not, it was one of the Delta’s best-known newspapermen.
In the meantime, any sort of plug or prayer for careful driving, be they from the organization or individual, can do nothing but good.
•••
We know the Lamb boys, Julian and Nicky, and their kid-sister Marie Louise when we lived on Eureka Street. They were little children then, and the boys played next door with Bobby Sterfuzza in Miss Rose’s backyard, or sometime on the other side of us with Larry Shaw. They played cowboys and Indian rather constantly, but rode nothing speedier than three-wheeled bikes. Julian, who was the youngest and smallest, was permitted to pull a wagon in these games.
Stanley Sherman came to our house on Eureka Street the afternoon that Louise Crump had the party for her god-son Phillip Carter. It was an outdoors affair, with horseshoe pitching, ball-game and some sort of spider web deal where the kids followed a maze of cotton strings that went here there and yonder. There was also wiener roasting and several bottles of pop per boy. Stanley was well-behaved and mannerly and quite a favorite with the rest of the gang.
The doctors and nurses are doing all that can be done, in a material way, for Julian Lamb and Stanley Sherman. Their recovery, in the final analysis, rests with God. And the rest of us can pray to him on the boys’ behalf.
•••
We are a day late in acknowledging the birthday of George Washington but if memory serves us correctly, are right on the dot with the wedding anniversary greetings (32nd) to Ruth (Mrs, A.C.) Paxton and her general.
