Mom's Taxi At Your Service

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I can officially add "chauffeuring the boy on a double date" to my list of things I never thought I'd take part in.  I was informed the day before he would not be joining us for his birthday dinner as he had other plans for this particular night.

Like anything with this kid--information is often guarded unless of course a threat is made forbidding activity unless he comes clean with the vitals: who, when, and where.  I don't think it's much to ask.  I don't put too much emphasis on the what--I fear the answer may kill me.

And, like clock work, information started trickling in about a half hour after threat was made a bit before noon two weeks ago Saturday.  Seems the boy would be going to an Easter play--at the church across from St. Francis--"you know, Mom, the one you said Grandad says is a cult". 

God Bless my Dad--he makes Archie Bunker look like a pansy.  Dad has barely survived his Catholic children switching sides to hang with the Lutherans and the Jews...a Baptist grandson would probably kill him.

 

I was mortified--the kid actually was listening whenever we passed by the big church overlooking the pond and I mentioned what my father always mentioned when we passed by the mysterious place when I was a kid. 

Like a faucet more drips and drops were offered~ a "friend" was starring in the Easter Story which started at 7:00.  "We" aka ME was picking up a boy from History Class and another "friend" who remained nameless.  Who are these "friends"...do they have names??  A clueless shrug followed...like it always does when I ask a personal question. 

 
Quincy quickly ended all mystery involving the evening - "I think he's got a girlfriend, Mom".  If the eye roll that followed suggestion didn't more or less confirm it, the yelp that came out of Quincy's mouth after taking a punch to the arm certainly did. Thank God for Quincy--or I would know nothing.

A little after 4:00 I got the confirmation that we would leave at 6:15, was handed two addresses with a gentle suggestion of mapquesting because he needed to arrive by 6:45 to get a "good seat".

As we headed to the first stop, I told the kid we were close to the subdivision I grew up in.  As we turned on Hollywood Drive, I got more excited--I went to school with the kids who lived in the big house at the end of the cul-de-sac. The boy didn't seem moved. And, there it was--right there--the big red one--that was the Van Hecke's house...as luck would have it our stop was right next door.  Well, I might not have known the name of the first passenger, but I sure knew her nationality. 

If I didn't know better I'd have sworn I pulled up at my in-laws old house...my mother-in-law's curtains were hanging in their windows.  I think this type of drapery is standard issue with all the Polish folks in the area--there must be a station all "new-to-America-Poles" stop at soon after arriving at the Statue of Liberty.

The boy hopped out of the car, alerted passenger of his arrival via text (naturally, right??), and stood at the front door.  And, out she came.  The back door of the car was opened for her--and then shut.  The boy did not return to his seat beside me, nope, he hopped in the back using the other door.  And I was given the nod to continue on across town to the second stop.  Good Lord--I'm driving Mr. and Mrs. Daisy...

We headed west to pick up the boy from History Class.  On our ride to Church--the final stop, we got to know each other as he was riding shotgun and backseat passengers had much more on their minds than idle small talk with the people up front. 

As I pulled into the driveway of the Baptist Church the boy next to me winced--"yikes, we're going to this place??"  I gave the boy in the backseat a knowing glance in the rear view mirror... apparently his mother was not the only one with suspicions.

Long story short~I picked up the three Catholics after the Passion Play was over and delivered them to the home of the Baptists which housed the star of the Play and I can only imagine the date of my new found friend who rode shotgun.  Shotgun Sam wished me well and thanked me for the ride--p.s. it was nice to meet me...and added his Dad would pick him up for the final journey home.

I headed back out around 10:40 to pick up the boy and his "friend".  I texted him in advance to announce my arrival and soon three children emerged from the home.  Seems Shotgun Sam's Dad didn't get his text on time and he would indeed be needing a ride home.  After Sam was safely inside, the kids in the backseat remarked that poor Sam was probably in big trouble.  Seems he ditched his Grandpa's birthday party in hopes of finding his perfect match.  Sadly, I can only assume he and the Play's star didn't hit it off based on drive-home chit-chat.

I bit my tongue the whole ride home--not only was I a chauffeur, I was the unknowing accomplice in a possible love connection in lieu of attending poor Grandpa's party scheme.   I could feel the grey roots growing in at light speed.  The kid is going to be the death of me. 

Two weeks later, a lifetime in a teenager's love life, things are still going well.  Quincy informs me the boy's facebook status positively reflects he is indeed in a relationship with the girl with more consanants in her last name than ours--connected by even fewer vowels...that's an official Pole by my standards.

Both Grandmas will be over the moon--the American one, for the sole reason her prediction has come true--the prediction she made years ago about the high maintenance boy--"You're going to need a "Stella" to keep you in line".  And of course the Polish Grandma will be satisfied knowing there is a slight possibility the boy landed a little lady right off the boat from Krakow.

If teenage drama today is anything like the drama of the '80's, I'm sure all could change tomorrow.  She's actually a pretty nice kid, hopefully things stay the way they are for a while...I prefer to be the chauffeur...not sure I'm strong enough to handle the aftermath of a break-up.

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