Unwelcome

Leta stood in the living room with her mother Julia, her mouth nearly hanging open in shock. While she was embarrassed and surprised, she could feel those emotions quickly churning into rage.

They had invited their guests to sit, sip coffee, enjoy one of Leta’s raisin-filled cookies, but the guests refused politely. The quartet of three men and one woman were content to stand close together, as if for protection, in the doorway that separated the small entrance of Julia’s house from the living room.

“Is it true, Sister Chetister, that you have left your husband to be with another man?” the spokesperson of the group, an older man called Brother Adamson, asked.

“Not quite,” Leta responded questioningly.

“As we understand it, you have left your lawful husband, our blessed Christian Brother Ralph Chetister, taken his beloved children away and moved in with your mother.” He gave a conciliatory nod to Julia who was standing in the doorway to the kitchen. “All this in order to fraternize with a man who is not your husband. Correct?”

Leta nearly scoffed. While her estranged husband Ralph did attend church with her and the children, he did so reluctantly, referred to the preacher as an old windbag and rarely participated in other activities, such as Bible study or helping to maintain the property. When he was invited to undergo deacon training, he informed Leta that he told the church elders that his work schedule prevented him. His interest in faith was based almost exclusively on his understanding that a churchgoing man was more respected in the community.

“And we know that you have previously prevented him from deacon training,” the second man, Brother Roberts, a pale, sniffling, mostly timid fellow, added in a rare moment of aggressiveness.

At this comment, Julia scoffed loudly enough for all to hear, and Leta quickly turned her head to send a firm, silent request that her mother refrain from further outbursts. Immediately, Julia’s face resumed its blank expression, but anyone who knew her well could see in her body language that the older woman, well into her sixties, was poised to launch an all-out verbal attack on their increasingly unfriendly visitors.

“Yes, well,” Leta stammered a little, but grew more confident as she spoke, “I am sure that you have come here out of the goodness of your hearts. I greatly appreciate your concern for me and my children. To set the matter straight, though, while it is true that my husband and I have separated, and the children and I felt compelled to move in with my mother, it was not to pursue a relationship with another man. I did not meet my friend until after trying every means at my disposal to reconcile with Ralph.”

That was what she said. In her mind, she was screaming at them for their unacceptable and vicious assault on her and their unbelievable support of Ralph who had immediately ceased attending the parish when he moved back in with his parents. When Leta finished, there was a short pause. She could—everyone could—hear the asthmatic breathing of the third gentleman, older brother to the woman. While he rarely spoke and seemed to never posit his opinion, he was always present at such actions. Leta’s church friends referred to him as “the doom.” Finally, Brother Adamson spoke again.

“Nevertheless, a good Christian church cannot abide having a woman who has rejected the blessed marriage bond remain in our company,” he declared, “and far less can we abide having such a woman as to do this and take up with another man remain. Women are to submit to their husbands and remain steadfast to the marriage bonds, Sister Chetister. That is what the Bible teaches us.”

“This sin is just…just…shameless,” their female companion, Sister Rose, added, so frustrated that she clung to her brother for support.

Sister, we beseech you,” Brother Adamson continued, “turn away from this great, grievous sin, repent and return to the husband God has so generously selected for you. Your current situation is unacceptable to the Lord and good Christian people. When you are ready to come back to the godly life, we will be happy to receive you. Until then, please do not darken the glorious house of our Lord.”

“We are a generous people, Sister Chetister,” Brother Roberts added condescendingly, “but in this matter you have gone too far.”

After a moment, Brother Adamson nodded his head, turned and left the house, with Brother Roberts gently guiding their silent companions to follow. Just as she reached the door, the woman turned back, tears streaming down her reddened face, to beseech Leta to heed the command of her companions so that she might return to the faith.

Then they were gone, and Julia, moving like a flash of light was standing at the closed door. She locked it with a ferocious flourish and turned to Leta.

“The nerve of some people!”

Birth of Lucille Scott, part two

"So is she faring well?" Leta asked as she and her brother Aaron bounced along in the carriage.

“The doctor thinks so,” Aaron answered.

“Then why—?”

“—Because Florence keeps asking for you. I think she’s a little scared.”

It was nearly four-thirty in the morning. A deep quiet hung in the air, but the atmosphere in the carriage that carried brother and sister to Aaron’s wife, who was in the throes of delivering her first child, was tense. The horses were zipping as fast as Aaron could drive them, and he was breathing heavily. When she realized the baby was coming, Florence first sent Aaron for the doctor and then urged him to collect her best friend—his sister Leta—to be with her. The siblings lived quite a distance, and then there was the time taken to rouse Leta, convince her husband Ralph that she was needed and return to the farmhouse. And Aaron was a temperamental type, so remaining calm and composed was a challenge for him.

Leta reached over and patted her brother on the knee, a rare gesture of affection between siblings. Aaron seemed to calm and permitted the horses to slow their pace a bit.

When they reached his door, however, he leaped out of the carriage and immediately ran to the other side to assist his sister. She was also excited and nearly out of the carriage by the time he reached her. They rushed into the house and them immediately became subdued. No sounds emanated from the bedroom, so they remained very still.

“Aaron, is that you?” the doctor called.

This was followed by a large moan from Florence, one that sent a wave of anxiety and excitement through the room.

“Yes, doctor,” Aaron called back, “and I brought my sister Leta.”

Aaron gestured for Leta to go into the bedroom.

“Leta!” Florence beckoned.

Just then the doctor appeared at the door.

“She’s very close,” he said, wiping his hands on a cloth. “The contractions are two minutes apart.” He looked at Leta. “If you are going to help, young lady, get in here.”

Even though she had given birth to her own child and had seen dozens of newborns during her 21 years, this was the first one, aside from her own daughter’s, that she had been privy to, and it was far different to assist than to go through the delivery. While the doctor provided instructions and watched for the baby, Leta held Florence’s hand, wiped her perspiring forehead and encouraged her beloved sister-in-law through the process. Just when it seemed like the strain would overtake the mother-to-be, Leta heard a flush, like water when it first hits the faucet, and then the sharp squeal of a baby. A moment later the doctor handed her a bundle, and she saw the wet, red, screaming face. She looked at the doctor, and he said, “girl.”

As the tears started to flow, Leta pulled the newborn close and whispered, “Welcome, little baby girl.”

“Lucille,” Florence croaked. Naturally, she was exhausted, but made a feeble gesture, and Leta took the newborn to her.

“What’s going on in there?” Aaron called from the doorway, and both women registered surprised. They had all but forgotten that there was a man, a father, smoking and waiting outside the door.

“I’ve got this,” the doctor said, leaving the sisters-in-law to share the good news.

Ten minutes later, Lucille was bathed and sleeping with her mother, the doctor was packing up his things, and Aaron and Leta were sitting at the kitchen table, sipping cups of freshly brewed coffee. The sun was flooding the room with light.

“Congratulations,” the doctor said.

“Thank you,” Aaron replied and saw the physician to the door. When he returned, he stopped in the doorway of the kitchen and looked at Leta. “I’m a father,” he said.

Birth of Lucille Scott, part one

Ralph was displeased. He had been sound asleep, they both had been, when the hard knocking at the door awoke them. After realizing that there actually was a need via a sharp conversation with his wife Leta, he hurriedly put on a pair of pants and stumbled through the house to the door.

“What?” he demanded irritably as he opened it. The cold autumn air whisked through him and into the house.

In the shadow he could see Leta’s older brother Aaron standing in the doorway.

“Aaron?” Leta inquired. She, too, had left the comfort of their warm bed to learn who was knocking.

“Christ, Aaron,” Ralph moaned, “it’s four o’clock in the morning.”

“The baby’s coming,” Aaron said calmly. “Flo wants Leta.”

“Is everything all right?” Leta asked with uncertainly. While it was time for Aaron’s wife Florence to deliver, the devoted sisters-in-law had lost a friend early in the summer during a complicated breach delivery.

“Come into the house,” Ralph ordered. “We’re letting all the cold air in.”

“No time,” Aaron said. “The pains are close.”

“Let me get dressed,” Leta said, as she started to return to the bedroom.

Ralph grabbed her shoulder. “Hold on,” he ordered. “You can’t just leave. It’s four in the morning.” Then he turned back to Aaron. “Get in here.”

With a gruff sigh, Aaron walked in and Ralph slammed the door closed, which almost immediately awoke Vivian, Leta and Ralph’s toddler, who began to cry.

“Shit!” Ralph growled. “Now, let’s figure this out.”

Leta had pulled away from her husband. “There’s nothing to figure out, Ralph. Florence is about to have a baby. She wants me there. I’m going.”

“But what about our baby?” Ralph demanded.

“She’s fine,” Leta answered. “Just go in there and rub her back, and she’ll go back to sleep.”

“How long are you going to be gone?” he returned.

“I don’t know, Ralph” Leta replied. “However long it takes.”

“What if she needs to have her diaper changed or gets hungry?” Ralph persisted.

“We don’t have time for this,” Aaron muttered loudly enough for both of them to hear. He was standing right at the door with one hand holding the doorknob.

As if to confirm the urgency, one of Aaron’s horses whinnied.

“Ralph,” Leta said with finality, “it will be all right” Then she turned to Aaron, “I’ll be ready in a minute.

Five minutes later, she was sitting beside him in the carriage, and Aaron was pressuring the team to go more quickly. Sensing the urgency of the situation, the horses complied, making for a bumpy ride.

To be continued.

Vivian's High School Graduation, part three

The older woman and the younger woman stood only two feet apart, but a great chasm flowed between them. Their communication had never been effusive or even relaxed, had never relied on continual chatter or even concealed animosity or disappointment, as the conversation in other mother-daughter relationships. Leta might have liked it to be so, but her daughter was far too observant and pensive to maintain an ongoing conversation, and Leta had too many secrets to be that vulnerable to a daughter’s insatiable need to live vicariously through her mother.

That Leta had betrayed her responsibility for her daughter and younger son by depositing them three years earlier on their father’s doorstep, because she could no longer take care of them adequately, clung to her shoulders like some giant vulture, ready to devour any expression of warmth or kindness. More devastating to maintaining any semblance of closeness was that after she left her children with their father, she barely stayed in contact.

In fact, mother and daughter had not spoken in over a month, not since Leta bought Vivian’s dress and gave her daughter the hat that she had made for the occasion. Leta had wanted to make a dress for Vivian, but feared they would not be able to meet frequently enough to fit it.

Leta stood before her very grown-up looking daughter, and her heart ached. Gone was the little girl who liked to watch her every move. Gone was the girl who frequently forgot to wear her glasses when she did her homework at the kitchen table. Gone was the receptive student—in the kitchen and with a needle. Gone was the clever girl who knew when to ask for assistance and when to puzzle it through. If ever Leta entertained thoughts of becoming a companion to her daughter, a friend, an advisor, this moment terminated them.

“Congratulations,” Leta said.

“Thank you, Ma,” Vivian responded, raising her eyes to meet her mother’s.

“I like what you did with the dress,” Leta added, noting the subtle flourishes Vivian had no doubt made to the garment. “Satin?”

“Yes,” Vivian answered, “Grandmother suggested it.”

Leta politely turned and nodded to Vivian’s paternal grandmother Ida, who had assumed primary caregiver responsibilities when Leta took her children to live with their father Ralph. After his divorce from Leta, he had moved back in with his parents, and still remained there, having brought his second wife Eunice into the household as well.

“Thank you for coming,” Vivian said after a short silence.

Leta looked at her inquisitively, but before she could respond, June pushed her way through the members. “Congratulations, Viv!” she cheered and aggressively hugged her older and gentler cousin.

Finally, Vivian gave up a genuine smile, and a moment later, the rest of the family chimed in with their own compliments. Upon conclusion of the jollities, as the rain clouds began to gather and a cool wind started to pick at them, the families registered the time.

“We better be going,” Ida said, “before it starts to rain.”

“So much for our picnic,” Ralph said dejectedly.

His mother gave him a brutal look, and he cowered sheepishly.

“Yes,” Leta agreed, “it is time we all head home. Congratulations again, Vivian, and I will see you for lunch next Saturday, correct?”

“Yes, Ma,” Vivian agreed.

The rain started as the divided family separated to make their way back to their automobiles. Dale waved farewell to his mother, but there were no words, no other gestures, just ducking and dodging the water droplets falling from the sky. As she got into the motorcar and they began the slow drive back to Aaron and Florence’s house in the rain, Leta simply felt alone, more alone than she had ever felt in her life. She was husbandless and childless. This aloneness was a darkness that grew inside of her and would engulf her life for a long time.

Vivian's High School Graduation, part two

Leta had not seen or talked to her daughter Vivian in nearly a month. At Easter, Vivian reminded her mother that she would be graduating from high school in June with a quiet request that Leta attend. Mother assured daughter that she would be there, and Leta’s sister-in-law Florence, who was also in the kitchen at the time, added her certainty that the entire household would attend the event. A couple of weeks later, in May, Leta took Vivian shopping for a new dress for the event, but after that, no contact.

Leta had a difficult time remaining in contact with Vivian and her son Dale. The children lived with their father—her ex-husband—his parents and his second wife. After their divorce, when the children were quite young, Leta had retained custody, but following the unexpected death of her second husband and a disastrous marriage to the third at the height of the Great Depression, Leta reluctantly took her beloved children—Vivian was 15 and Dale was 12—to live with their father. While she had hoped it would only be temporary, life circumstances intervened. Her financial capability deteriorated, her almost immediate next marriage was too hasty and a horrendous error in judgment. And Ralph re-married. Although his second wife was an overbearing alcoholic, Eunice had always wanted children around and clung to Leta’s.

Eunice’s attitude, the children’s grandmother Ida’s determination that the children should remain in her care, and Leta’s ongoing financial and life uncertainty collaborated to keep mother and children separate.

Could any mother feel guiltier than I? Leta wondered.

Waite was a large high school; its territory included all of Toledo’s East Side and part of the outlying townships. Vivian’s graduating class was over 300 students, yielding hundreds, perhaps over one thousand attendees.

“We’re late,” Aaron grunted, as he circled the area in search of a parking spot. “Let me drop you off, so you can find a place to sit.”

“But you’ll never find us,” Florence protested.

“I’ll go with you,” Lucille suggested, “and then meet Papa at the entrance.”

“That settles it then,” Aaron declared. “Leta should be there when the graduates come in.”

Just then, from out of the corner of her eye, Leta saw Ralph’s brother Walter, his wife Mildred and their children walking from one of the residential streets toward the school. While she had never harbored any anger or resentment toward her former brother-in-law, she felt a slight stab in the heart at seeing them. After all, over the past two years, they had spent more time with her children than she had, having participated in Ida’s Sunday family dinners for years.

“There’s a spot!” June called.

“I see it!” Aaron agreed and quickly jerked the motorcar into the trajectory to acquire the space before any of the other wandering drivers could.

After he parked, Aaron jumped out of the automobile and checked his watch. “We only have ten minutes before they start,” he declared. “We need to move like a rabbit to its burrow.”

This was easier said than accomplished with a carload of women, because each needed to press out her dress, straighten her hat and compose herself after the warm, cramped drive. Further, Leta was looking to see the location of her former brother-in-law. She had no intention of arriving at the same time and putting herself through the awkwardness of polite but strained conversation with him.

“Aunt Leta?” Lucille inquired gently. She always had a way of knowing when her aunt was troubled and became very gentle. While Florence was suspicious and perhaps a bit jealous, aunt and niece held a special bond.

Leta quickly left her thoughtfulness. “Let’s go,” she said and started walking toward the event entrance.

While they did not have good luck in locating a place to sit, they found several seats together where they could see well enough. And they had just settled when the music began and the graduating seniors began to process in. Suddenly all eyes were on the line of students approaching. As her surname began with a “C”, Vivian would be near the beginning, and June saw her first.

“There she is!” the girl shouted, and a few moments later, the rest of her family had identified which of the students was theirs. Leta, of course, could tell instantly. Had she not made the stylish hat and selected the most fashionable dress for her daughter’s big day? In fact, those with an eye for detail might notice how Leta’s own hat and dress were quite similar.

The ceremony went as expected, and upon its conclusion, Leta and her brother’s family sought to congratulate their high school graduate. Vivian was with her father, brother, and other members of the Chetister family when they reached her, and Leta, who was leading them, suddenly allowed the others to pass her. Although she was generally bold and outgoing, Leta felt some reluctance in greeting her beloved but slightly estranged daughter, particularly in the public eye. She had broken several promises between the dress shopping and today and feared that Vivian would make an inappropriate response, shame her mother in front of everyone, or worse yet, simply reject Leta for her many unforgivable sins. While she had one bottle of beer before they left the house, Leta wished she had actually had at least one more.

However, Leta could not hide, and her 15-year-old son Dale saw them approaching.

“Ma! Ma!” he shouted, then left the other Chetisters to run to her.

While Leta wanted to welcome her boy into her arms, her dread of the situation overwhelmed her. Still, she accepted his hug, albeit stiffly, and permitted him to take her hand and lead her to Vivian. The girl’s own countenance had changed, at least enough for a mother to recognize. While still filled with excitement at her accomplishment, Vivian had lowered her head slightly.

To be continued.

Vivian's high school graduation, part one

Leta was actually nervous. Her hands were trembling so much that she had great difficulty with the pinning her hat.

From the reflection in the mirror, she could see the adoring eyes of her 13-year-old niece June, daughter to her brother Aaron and his wife Florence, watching her intently. The girl was always fascinated by Leta’s preparations, whether for church, a special event or an evening out. This prompted an idea to mask her insecurity.

“What do you think, June?” Leta asked. “Should I put the hat this way…or this way?”

June rose from her seat on the bed to come closer, applying her diligent, yet inexperienced mind to the task at hand. As Leta was an experienced hat designer, June was guided by the information she learned from her aunt augmented by her own imagination. Leta almost immediately regretted asking the question. After all, her purpose was to mask her insecurity, but the girl’s close proximity only increased it. Leta could hear her own heart beating.

“Well…?” June started, wrinkling her face in deep thought.

Leta handed the girl the hatpin and sat on the bench of the vanity.

June fussed only a little, without, much to Leta’s relief, mussing her hair, and placed the hat stylishly on Leta’s head.

“How is that?” June inquired.

Leta smiled. “Perfect. Now slide the hatpin in.”

June carefully tackled the task, and a moment later, Leta looked ready to depart.

“You look beautiful, Aunt Leta,” June gushed, as Leta stood and straightened her dress.

“Thank you, June,” Leta said with a smile.

Then she reached into a vanity drawer for a handkerchief to dab her forehead and cheeks.

“It’s warm in here, isn’t it?”

“I guess,” June answered, shrugging her shoulders. The child seemed impervious to higher temperatures.

Now that Leta was fully dressed and ready to leave June had lost all interest.

“We better get ourselves downstairs,” Leta said. “Your father will be waiting.”

Taking one last look in the mirror, Leta followed the girl out of the room and down the stairs into the living room.

Aaron was sitting on the sofa with the newspaper, a bottle of beer on the end table beside him.

“Papa!” June called as they entered, “Aunt Leta is ready.”

“About time,” he grunted, folding the paper. “If we wait much longer, we won’t get a good seat. Flo!” he called to his wife, who was in the kitchen. “It’s time to leave!”

“Be right there,” his wife called back.

Leta’s perspiration, and, at least to her, trembling, had increased as she left her bedroom.

“I’ll see what’s taking them so long,” she said and practically darted into the kitchen.

“Jesus Christ!” her brother swore, “Now I’m missing three!”

In the kitchen, Leta’s older niece Lucille was standing on a chair, while her mother was quickly repairing a loose hem.

“I’m sorry,” Florence said, as she sewed. “We didn’t see this until now.”

Leta barely heard her; her own mind was occupied with one thought. She went right to the icebox and retrieved a bottle of beer.

“Leta?” Florence questioned.

But Leta followed through with her objective, popping off the cap and chugging the beer. It was cold and soothing, refreshing and shocking to her system.

When she finished, she sighed with great satisfaction. Florence and Lucille were staring at her with astonishment.

She shrugged her shoulders slightly.

“What?” she demanded. “I was thirsty.”

“Oh, Leta,” her sister-in-law muttered and returned to the hemming. Lucille, noting that her mother was no longer paying attention to Leta’s behavior, grinned at her aunt.

Leta then rinsed the bottle in the sink, opened a cupboard door, slid out the bin that concealed a wooden box, and put the empty beer bottle away.

“Ready!” Florence said loud enough for everyone to hear, and then Aaron hustled everyone to the automobile.

Leta was feeling far more relaxed and cooler.

Ten minutes later they were at Morrison R. Waite High School near the Maumee River for Leta’s daughter Vivian’s high school graduation.

To be continued.

3.2 Beer

"You don't drink, do you?" Grandma Eckman asked me during one of our conversations.

It was December 1983, and I was in my sophomore year at Wittenberg University, who had just turned 19, enjoying a 10-day Christmastime visit with my family.

Although it was afternoon, Grandma was in her nightgown and robe, but sitting in one of the very warm lounges of the senior residence where she had been living for over a decade. She was 86 years old.

I laughed—for a couple of reasons. First, as an independent student attending a private university, I could not afford to eat regularly. From the beginning of the quarter in September to my visit in December, I had lost more than 10 pounds, and I was thin to begin with. (I gained seven or so back during those 10 days of non-stop holiday eating.) If I didn’t have enough money to eat three meals a day, I definitely didn’t have enough money to purchase alcohol. Second, I was not a moocher. My pride and sense of reciprocity forbade me from drinking others’ alcohol without providing some of my own. Third, aside from a sip of beer or a cocktail when I was a child, I had really never acquired the taste of alcohol. And fourth, I was a little bit afraid of letting myself go in that manner.

“Nope,” I answered, “but I know why you asked.”

During the summer, Ohio had changed its minimum legal drinking age from 18 to 21. The previous Ohio law was that adults from 18 to 21 could drink 3.2% beer. Any higher percentage alcoholic beverage, such as wine, any of the hard liquors (whiskey, vodka, gin, rum, etc.) and even 7% alcohol beer was illegal until a person reached 21.

But the new law stated that any alcohol could not be legally purchased or consumed until a person became age 21.

“You know,” Grandma Eckman continued, “I know a little about alcohol laws myself.”

“Really?”

“I did live through Prohibition!” she said emphatically, almost as if she could not believe I didn’t know this. “It was a tough time for a lot of people, and even I liked a drink every now and then.”

I looked at her intently, to confirm that I was listening.

“All this regulation,” she concluded, “I just don’t like it.”

My great-grandmother was a grown woman when the 18^th Amendment was passed in 1919. For fourteen years, it crated derision, division and increased crime in the country. Then it was repealed in December 1933, via the 21^st Amendment.

During Prohibition, she was one of the many who continued to imbibe, even make her own, putting herself and her family at risk. She was very sensitive to laws regulating alcohol usage.

However, in more recent times, the country was experiencing some unpleasant changes, particularly as a result of response to the passage of the 26^th Amendment in July 1971. This Amendment lowered the legal voting age from 21 to 18. Between 1970 and 1975, 29 states also lowered the Minimum Legal Drinking Age (MLDA) from 21 to 18, 19 or 20. The nearly universal thought was that if a person was adult enough to vote at age 18, s/he was adult enough to manage alcohol usage.

Unfortunately, these changes were soon followed by studies showing an increase in motor vehicle fatalities, mostly attributable to the lower MLDA.

In 1980, Candy Lightner and Cindy Lamb began to speak out. Lightner founded MADD (Mothers Against Drunk Driving) after her daughter Cari was killed by a repeat drunk driving offender. Lamb’s daughter Laura became the nation’s youngest quadriplegic at the hands of a drunk driver. The women’s goal was to save lives, and they pursued their objective by following the evidence.

MADD demanded state legislatures pass stricter drunk driving laws. In March 1983 Ohio passed its own stricter drunk driving law. However, those with grave concerns about youth drinking continued to push at the federal level. As drinking and driving laws are state laws, the federal government needed to be more creative about how to protect individuals from drinking and driving. In 1984, Senator Frank Lautenberg introduced the National Minimum Legal Drinking Act, which required all states to enforce a minimum legal drinking age of 21 or else risk losing 10% of all federal highway construction funds. This bill was quickly passed by both houses of Congress and signed by then-President Ronald Reagan on July 17, 1984.

As the act controlled the distribution of anywhere from $8 to $99 million in federal transportation funds, depending on the size of the state, for all intents and purposes the act mandated a minimum legal drinking age of 21. Over the next several years, the states became compliant. By mid-1988, all fifty states and Washington, DC were in compliance, with South Dakota and Wyoming as the final two states to comply.

But this was December 1983, and the Ohio law was already in effect.

“Well, Grandma,” I said, “I feel a kind of disappointment in the law. As you know, when I turned 18, I could drink three-two beer, and now to have that right taken away is disappointing. At the same time, I don’t drink any kind of alcohol, so it doesn’t officially affect me. It’s a weird sort of feeling.”

“Like betrayal?” she asked.

“More like sadness,” I answered, “and maybe not the way you’re thinking. Sadness in that some of my peers have behaved so foolishly that this has to be.”

Grandma Eckman looked at me, and I could see that her mind was considering what I just shared.

“It’s about responsibility,” I continued. “As much as I hate the idea of the government drawing up these kinds of parental-like laws, what else can it do when the people indicate so strongly that they need them?”

“Yeah, fine,” she snapped, signaling that this was the end of the conversation. I had worn her out. “Walk me back to my room,” she added more gently.  And, of course, I did.