A kind of genius

Let me tell you about my rotten kid. Actually I have two of them, but in this particular case we’re talking about the younger one, the one who is a senior at ASU Jonesboro.
Really he’s not rotten at all. He’s a wonderful young man of whom his mother and I are extremely proud. But he does possess a kind of genius for scaring me half out of my wits (and when you’re as close to your wits’ end as I am, you can’t afford to be scared out of any more of them). He has performed this dubious act more than once in his life. Sometimes I think his ultimate goal is to have me locked away in a giggle jacket.
Often he has threatened to have me put away in a quiet place with soft walls. I can’t really blame him for that, though. He is fully aware of all the ridiculous things I did when I was his age and most of my subsequent acts of irrationality. I may not have been the best father in the world, but at least I’ve been honest.
My son’s latest attempt to have me placed in the custody of the men in the white coats happened week before last. At about 2:00 a.m. our phone rings. Awakened from a sound sleep, my wife answers and after an agitated conversation informs me that our younger son has checked himself into the emergency room at St. Bernard’s hospital in Jonesboro after coughing up some blood. Naturally, this concerned him.
Looking down at his handkerchief, he’d said in his own inimitable, understated fashion, “Hmmm, blood, that’s supposed to stay on the inside.” Hence he betook himself to St. Bernard’s.
He called us and gave us just enough details to nearly send his father into cardiac arrest. He said he call back after he’d seen the doctor.
His mother was having none of that. After making a few arrangements we were in the car and headed north.
Now, there was a time in my life when making a spur of the moment drive to Jonesboro at 2:00 a.m. was no big deal. I did it many times when I was in college at Memphis State. At the time there were several co-eds at ASU who were well disposed toward one of my fraternity brothers and me. They lived in a house trailer in the vicinity of the campus and weren’t opposed to having surprise guests drop in at unreasonable hours.
Those days are long past, however, and my physical stamina isn’t what it once was (but then whose is?) My better half and I didn’t say a dozen words to each other all the way to Jonesboro. We just held hands and tried to remain alert. I was driving and I must confess I didn’t pay a great deal of attention to the speedometer, my priorities being what they were at the moment
When we got there we learned what Paul Harvey would call “the rest of the story.” Our baby boy had a part time job at a liquor store (we’re so proud) where in expectation of an inspection by an insurance agent, the manager had put our afore mentioned baby boy to shoveling out the bin where they burn the old cardboard boxes. They’d given our boy a shovel but no protective face mask. He inhaled some ash which severely irritated his lungs. That and repeated trips in and out of a cooler stocking shelves had brought on bronchitis. After examining a chest x-ray, the doctor prescribed a couple of medications and sent us on our way.
Now don’t misunderstand me, gentle readers. I’m glad he called us, and I’m glad he got his butt to the hospital. I understand that he gets bored sometimes but I just wish he’d find some other way of amusing himself than frightening his parents half to death.
By the way, I wasn’t the only one he perturbed with this vaudeville act. He did not called his friend, Joanna Foot who is a freshman at Henderson State in Arkadelphia. When she did find out about it she gave him “what fer” over the phone. “Why didn’t you call me?” she demanded “I would have driven up there.” His response was “I know you would have, That’s why I didn’t call.” He didn’t want her to miss class. He didn’t even bother to wake up his roommate, Mike Juola, who was just across the hall.
Being considerate is a fine thing. I just wish he’d take a little better care of himself., and the next time he needs some stimulation, go out to the batting cage and hit a few instead of seeking opportunities to relieve his father of the very few active brain cells he has left.