For The Boys


Waiting for the Karma Truck

Mother’s Day is Sunday.  When my mom was alive, this was a day feted like few others.  Dad would have it no other way, for he knew how much it meant to her.  We’d stand by her bedroom door waiting for her to come out, give her a cape made out of a sheet, a scepter (which in actuality was one of our batons) – even the dog had a ‘Happy Mother’s Day‘ sign around his neck.  Coffee first – always.  Then gifts and cards (she felt cards were a critical component of the whole thing).  In retrospect, we took the Hallmark holiday to almost ridiculous levels.  As teenagers, Deb  and I would roll our eyes at the theatrics involved – Dad reminding us repeatedly to make sure that she not be disappointed by any failure of our memories, the Queen for a Day spectacle expanding in scope…

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About Jonathan Caswell

Mr. Caswell has been composing poetry at least since High School. He has been on WORD PRESS for ten years and contributes to two other blogs beside this one. This blog has a Christian emphasis but all bloggers are welcome. Mr. Caswell chooses to---with permission--re[post material of interest

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