Month: July 1998

Just when I think I know my sons, they change. At 10, I signed up my second son for children’s choir. He responded as if I had told him to lay down on the rack in the torture chamber. He ran. He hid. He dragged his feet all the way to practice and forgot to…

The phone rang, interrupting my afternoon nap. Yawning I went to the kitchen to answer it. “Hello, Hershberger’s residence,” I mumbled. No one responded. I cleared my throat, “Hello?” I heard a quit click. “Okay, good-bye,” I hung up. It was another anonymous silent phone call at 2:15 p.m. interrupting my afternoon siesta with my…

I used to scare my daughter every time I snapped my fingers. With a tremor in her teenage voice she says, “when I was a little kid, I would jump out of my skin at the snap of death from my mom.” I wish I had that effect on my sons. With them, I not…

Shortly after I married into a family with two young sons, my husband bought a red, metal wagon with shiny black handle and white side-walled tired. On our shoestring budget, that wagon was our second vehicle. Even pulling the wagon, it was a short trip down a well-kept, sidewalk lined streets to the library, clinic,…