Dear Readers, thought I'd reach back into the archives and pull one of my favorite postings. Enjoy.. leave a comment.
As I'm driving into the city I start to reminisce on all the things I'd had accomplished the day before. We really wanted to paint our living room, and somehow I got volunteered into doing it on a Saturday. Something about her not going to be at home all day was the perfect explanation given. So hence there went my Saturday. We have these extremely high ceiling's and me being the plan-ahead-get-everything-you-need-in-advance type of husband that I am, I borrowed a ladder from one of my friends. Paint brush in hand, I began to create a masterpiece that even Picasso would be proud of. I'm painting, easing my way up the ladder as the ceiling continues to get higher and higher. At one point I have to decide.. do I stand on the top part of this shaky ladder despite the warnings on the ladder telling me not to or do I accept defeat and realize I'm just not going to be able to reach the top part of the ceiling. Oh, believe me I rationalized and pondered over this question for a period of time. I even backed away from the wall and took a good long hard look at the open white area that I couldn't reach with my brush, and tried to somehow convince myself that it looked okay. You know some type of art deco. It didn't work. I don't know if you have ever seen this on cartoons but I sure have. Now that I think about it, I think that's where I got the idea. The cartoon character is trying to perhaps change a light bulb or get something off a shelf and they just can't quit reach it, so they began to stack various pieces of furniture so they can use it as a hasty ladder. Well let's just say I tried it and it wasn't pretty. Use your imagination, can you picture this. Kitchen table, coffee table, end table, and chair.. I think that's the order that I stacked them. Now I see why they say cartoons are so violent and influential. Man I could have busted my butt down to the "white meat". Okay.. note to self, "no cartoons for baby." As for the wall, mission accomplished.
I finally make it to church and I'm smiling still thinking about the circus act I'd pulled off. I never take my cell phone into church but as fate would have it, this one particular Sunday I stick it in my pocket. Things are going great. The choir sounds really good, the bass is kicking, I'm really starting to get my praise on. Then all of a sudden something tells me check my phone. I do. One missed call appears on the screen. I scroll to the menu and it says the call was from the house. I quickly call home and ask, "is everything okay?" "Come quickly" my wife said, "I need to go to the emergency room, something is wrong with baby". That's all she needed to say. The next thing I knew I was on the highway, emergency flasher on and doing about 90 miles an hour. What is going on? What in the world could be wrong? I just left the house and everything was fine. Okay Stone, everything is going to be okay, that's what I kept telling myself. Take it easy, just get there in one piece. Drive you fool, just drive. Oh, s!#$@, there goes a cop car. Just my luck. What do I do? Do I slow down with hopes that he'll take the next exit or do I speed right past him and hope he doesn't see or stop me. I chose the latter, and of course he sees me zip past him at about 90-95 miles and turns on his lights. "Now what," I ask myself. I could keep going, ignore the lights, don't stop, I see it on TV everyday. My wife needs me, she's in trouble and I'm not gonna stop and I didn't. For the next 5 or 6 miles I see these flashing lights in my rear view mirror and I'm telling myself that I have to get home. I'm on a mission, my wife needs me. At one point I thought, okay What is this cop thinking? Does he think he is on a high speed chase? Of course not, why would I be driving with my flashers on if it wasn't an emergency? Pay attention Mr. Officer can't you see I'm in a freaking hurry. By now I know he's probably called in on his radio telling everyone at the station "I gots me one of them there high speeds chase and he's not stopping." Well, five miles into this so called chase it hits me, the voice of reason, and it tells me "brotha man, you gone have to pull this here vehicle over or you're gonna get in some serious trouble". I do. I pull over and immediately grab my wallet pull out my drivers license and stick it out the window. Up walks what I call the African American version of Barney Fife. Sir, do you know how fast you were going? Yes, I said, I'm in a hurry. Something is wrong with my wife. We are having our first baby and she called me to say she needs to go to the emergency room. I'm going home to pick her up and take her there. Sir, you can not drive 90 miles an hour down the highway. I know that but my wife is pregnant. It's our first child and she says she needs to go to the emergency room. Okay, I hear you, but Sir you can not drive 90 miles an hour down the highway. Why didn't you call an ambulance? Because, my wife called me. It's our first child and she says it's an emergency and I need to take her to the emergency room. By this time I'm thinking "man just give me a ticket or do what ever you need to, but I'm heading to the house to get my wife." As if I hadn't heard him the previous times he says it again, "Sir, you can not drive 90 miles an hour down the highway." I look at him and say, okay, I'm sorry and drive off. Finally I get to the house and my wife comes rushing out the door and we take off heading to the hospital. I ask her what's wrong? But she starts crying and gives me an explanation that I'd rather not share with others, but believe me it was an emergency and I had to get to the hospital.
Upon arrival, and a couple of dollars later for the parking we find ourselves inside the emergency room. "Can I help you," asked one nurse. Yes was all I heard then came the tears, non stop ever flowing tears. Stone you gotta stop crying.. no not really it was my wife crying, had you going there for a minute. Anyway after I explain things to the nurse we find ourselves in a waiting room. My wife has gotten undressed and put on the gown with no booty in the back, you know the one, and I'm sitting in a chair trying to remain calm. She tells me this is a birthing room. So me being the in-a-strange-place-mess-with-all-the-gadgets type of husband that I am, I chill. In walks another nurse and starts in on my wife. Fifty questions later she's rubbing a stethoscope on my wife stomach attempting to find the baby's heartbeat. Okay, I'm not a doctor nor do I claim to be one, but I swear its been at least ten minutes and this nurse is still trying to locate the baby's heart. You can only imagine what my wife is going through as she stares at me with tears in her eyes. God no, please no. I don't know what I'd do, please hear my prayer I whispered. "Bingo, we got a heartbeat" exclaimed the nurse. Uh, bingo my (input explicit word here). Oh that's what I said. "Okay we have a heartbeat, I'll go get the doctor". A few minutes later in walks a young girl and I'm saying to myself she must be looking for her momma. Can't she see she's in the wrong room, aint nothing in here but us black folks and um I really think this kid is lost. "Hello, I'm the Doctor" What seems to be the problem. Oh Lord, it's Doogie Houser M.D. and she's looks like she can't be any older than sixteen. Why is my wife giving me that death ray stare as if I'm suppose to say something and I don't know what in the world to say. Oh God, Please Help me. I remain silent. I just continue to sit quickly in a corner and wait for the perfect moment to excuse myself from the room. It comes. Like a Christmas present on Christmas day, it comes. When the young doctor tells me she's about to use what I call "the big salad spoons" on my wife that was exactly what I needed to hear. "Uh, Baby I'll be out in the hallway, call me if you need me." Trust me gentlemen it wasn't about to be a pretty picture in that room, especially when I passed a nurse with a huge rescue one flashlight as I bolted out the door. A few minutes later I was called back into the room. "I'll be right back with the results in just a moment," said the young Doogie. Well, how was it? What do you think, she asked. Um, I think I'm gonna have to get us some of these "stirrups" I said, they could be pretty handy one day. "How do they work," I asked as I proceeded to mess with them, pushing every button, and extending them as far as I could. "Would you leave stuff alone." Just as I have them extended to their never-before-or-never-again-will-they-ever-be-this-high-stage I hear footsteps coming down the hallway. Can you imagine me struggling, attempting to get these things back into their rightful place without getting busted? Needless to say I was able to do it and get back in my chair clear across the room by the time Doogie walked in. Come on, Did you ever doubt for one minute I couldn't do it?
Given a clean bill of health, my wife and I returned home and thanked God that all was well. Keep us in your thoughts, because we will always keep you in ours.. especially when it come time for a baby sitter.
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