UncommonPromise

I was a “latchkey kid" long before the phrase was coined—but with an important difference: I was never alone.

My mom folded boxes at the local paper company. She worked the night shift, because she was determined to be home with the family in the evening and see us off to school in the morning. Before school, after we'd eaten our oatmeal and our lunches were packed, she'd stand at the door and watch us on our way.

On school days, I'd return at midday. The bus driver had strict orders from Mom to watch until I passed through the front door. Once inside, I'd lock the door and stand silently and listen for my mother’s soft, steady breathing. It was reassuring to know she was there, in the next room.



Mom was a gentle sleeper. To keep quiet, sometimes I'd watch cartoons with no sound. Other times, I'd lie upside down in my huge chair, legs pointed up, and pretend to walk on the ceiling. Or I might look at pictures in the encyclopedia, or nap.

Hours later, when Dad came home from the waterworks, the house would buzz with energy and chatter. Until then, I'd while away the hours in the big chair. In the warmth of my big green chair, I read and thought and learned about the world and about myself. In the silence of my thoughts, I grew up imagining that anything was possible.

You may want to visit our other websites:

Uncommon Promise Video Channel

Under the Tuscan Thumb Blog

The UP Side Lowdown by Cheryl

New Music - Virtual CD