Sunday, August 1, 2010

Just rolling with it

I was in my fourth winter, running errands with my mom. She had bundled me up in layers of wool. I looked like a big, bandaged thumb. Weather would not kill me that day. Nothing would.

For lunch, she took me to McDonald’s. That was back when McDonald’s kept score that “hundreds of millions” had been served. Back in the car, I inquired when they would climb up the pole and clarify that hundreds of millions “and two” had been served. “Probably tomorrow,” my mom said.

Just a moment later my mom pulled into traffic and brought the car to cruising speed in a 40-mph zone. I was in the back seat of her clunky chunk of Detroitsteel. This was in the day before child safety seats. My mom could usually rely on me to secure myself in the lap belt. In this instance, I  forgot.