I Lost Everything in the Post-Natal Depression by Erma Bombeck

Author:Erma Bombeck [Bombeck, Erma]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780307778253
Publisher: Fawcett Crest
Published: 2011-02-23T06:00:00+00:00

FIELD TRIPS

My son entered kindergarten with a four-word vocabulary: “My mom can drive.” Later, he added words like “anytime, anywhere, and distance is no object.” But for the first year, he made it on those four.

His teacher, Miss Varicose, was quite concerned about him and asked me to come to school to discuss the problem.

“I’m quite puzzled over … by the way he never told us his name.”

“It’s Charlie,” I said.

“Charlie seems to be on the outside of our little circle. He does not seek out friends. He never volunteers to answer questions, and at times his behavior is bewildering. For example, the other day I said to the class, ‘I want you to line up against the wall, the boys in one line, the girls in another. We are going.…’ At that moment, Charlie jumped up on the desk, waved his arms excitedly and shouted, ‘My mom can drive.’

“ ‘That won’t be necessary,’ I told him. ‘We are only going to the lavatory.’ I don’t understand Charlie.”

“Of course you don’t,” I said. “You have to know that Charlie was born on the tail end of our other children, all needing to be driven hither and yon. He was born in a car between helping deliver a Sunday-morning paper route and taking his sister to a Girl Scout cookie rally. He cut his teeth on a stick shift. He learned his numbers by reading the mileage gauge. The only primary colors he knows are red, green, and amber. His alphabet is limited to P, R, N, and D. That kid has spent so much time in a car that when we passed a house the other day, he wanted to know who stole its hubcaps.”

“Then being raised in a car has had an effect on Charlie?”

“You didn’t notice he holds his pants up with a seat belt?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You are not the only one confused, Miss Varicose. Not only for having trouble understanding him, but for the mother image I have created. Most children think of their mothers as hot apple pie and the American flag. Charlie sees me as four wheels and a tank of Platformate. He thinks driving a car is the only thing I can do.”

“How did it all begin?” asked his teacher.

“Well, it all began with my first child,” I explained. “She came home from school one day bearing a mimeographed sheet of paper. It read:

MOTHERS MOTHERS MOTHERS

WE NEED YOU

The first grade of Bradford Primary will participate in a field trip on Saturday at the Stillwell Owl Sanctuary. We are in need of mothers who can drive. This will be an enriching experience for you.

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

“Actually, it wasn’t an enriching experience at all. Two of my little passengers entwined themselves around a soft-drink machine and refused to go on the nature walk. One child in the car confided he had chicken pox but his mother covered it up with make-up so he wouldn’t miss the field trip. And a flock of owls mistook my car for a relief station and created a credibility gap at the car wash.

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