My son-in-law’s father died, and I prepared to attend the funeral. It was in Fort Wayne, and I assumed Mayor Tom Henry would be there. I have wanted to meet him, and maybe this would be my chance.
I thought I could plan my arrival specifically so I could slip into the church and maybe slide into the pew beside the mayor. Certainly, he would be there as this is a close-knit family, and the deceased is a first cousin.
Unfortunately, my car malfunctioned. My son convinced me to take it to the car “hospital” on Sunday so it could be checked out first thing in the morning. No car! No attending the funeral of my daughter’s father-in-law! No chance of sitting with the mayor!
My son stepped up and offered to drop me off at the funeral. I would be on my own to get home. Surely, someone would be willing to see that I got home. But who? Maybe the mayor would take pity on me and take me home in the Mayoral Limousine.
Ah, another idea, my son, the night-worker, suggested I drop him off at his house where he could sleep until I came for him at the appointed time. That was trusting. This is his brand-new KIA Forte. I climbed in behind the wheel and began to adjust the mirrors and seat which easily glided forward to accommodate shorter legs. But when I searched for the lever to raise the seat, there was none. Alas, it was getting close to the time for the service. I’d just have to be on my way if there was any hope of sitting with the mayor.
This little old gray-haired lady drove the five blocks peering out the windshield through the steering wheel – you know the scene: you’ve seen many little, old, blue-gray, curly-haired ladies peering through the steering wheel of cars too big for them. I was one of them that day, sans the bluing in my hair.
I parked the car and made my way toward the doors of the church. I was limping more than normal (a bad knee), but the wrong leg was the one causing problems. I thought maybe the grass was uneven since I was taking a short cut rather than using the sidewalk. I was in a hurry to find my seat; I didn’t want to be late.
Glancing at the ground, I noticed the heel of my shoe was missing. I wasn’t limping, I was walking like Peg Leg Pete with one leg shorter than the other. Darn! I couldn’t turn around and return to the car; it was time for the service to start.
I gingerly made my way into the church past the grieving family gathered to follow the casket in for the service. I made myself as small as I could, keeping my head down and walking on my tip toes, nodding briefly when my daughter looked my way. I found a seat in the last pew and quickly sat down without drawing attention to myself. Surreptitiously, I glanced around to see where I preferred to be sitting. No mayor!
Then out of the corner of my eye, I saw him enter through the side door with one of his brothers. Fiddle, I couldn’t get up and move with this dastardly, obscene shoe. My plans were dashed.
Before the service was over, I checked my shoes just to ascertain my problem. It wasn’t just the right shoe; it was both! They were shedding small black pieces of foam rubber all over the carpet. How embarrassing!
Dismissed by rows, I fortunately was one of the last to leave. Again, without looking right or left, I wove between the people without making eye contact. With my head down I could see the path I had tread going into the church much like Hansel and Gretel and their walk through the woods. I moved quickly to the parking lot and the car too big for me. Thankfully, the custodian would never know who left the trail.
My dilemma wasn’t over yet. I left particles of my sole all over the floor of my son’s brand-new car. When I got home, I ripped the floor mat out and shook it, ridding it of any signs of the demise of an old pair of shoes doomed for the trash can.
Thankfully, the mayor will never be the wiser of a little old lady driving a car too big, wearing shoes that should have been thrown away years ago, and dashed dreams of sitting with him at the funeral of his cousin.
Here’s the thing: Sometimes you just have to take the time to laugh at yourself! It is also wise to clear your closet of things not worn for a long time. I still have not met Mayor Tom Henry!
———
Editor’s Note: This is one of a series of articles written by a group of retired and current teachers — Ken Ballinger, Billy Kreigh, Marianne Darr-Norman, and Anna Spalding. Their intent is to spur discussions at the dinner table and elsewhere. You may also voice your thoughts and reactions via The News-Banner’s letters to editor.
