I remember the time that our family decided to celebrate my husband’s birthday in a restaurant. Our daughters walked in with me and the men followed. David caused something of a stir becaused he lurched as he walked. A diner at a nearby table asked why David was examining his plate so carefully and for so long. “Checking for defects,” my husband quipped. “Some people do that all the time, you know.” It amazed me how he was able to kid around this way.
David stared at the people in the restaurant then announced. “There is someone from the Establishment here. He’s sizing me up. The restaurant owner is an army sergeant, you know.” He became very restless and looked about uncomfortably. We managed to change the subject and even enjoy our meal.
After dinner, we strolled to our car and sang all the way home. We were greeted warmly by our dog and went inside. Then we sat down to watch a movie on television. David became more and more agitated, then went to his bedroom. Not long after that we heard the sound of something breaking and my husband ran to investigate. David was hammering at an African ornament standing on a ledge in the passage. “STOP David,” my husband shouted. “Stop that now! Why did you do that?” He looked at his dad and shouted; “Because you planted microphones under that statue. The voices are worse. They’re out to get me.” David shouted and then walked toward the front door and went out with his dog. “You can’t let him go out alone in that condition,” I told my husband. “You’re right on that score. I’ll see you later.”
Our daughters helped me scoop up the glass and clean up. “What a birthday celebration this is turning out to be. Dad loves this sculpture. Maybe we can glue it together Mom?” one of our daughters suggested. “Are you referring to the statue or to our lives?” I asked tearfully.
