Time to think...

Sunday morning came a little too soon, but Mom had made piggies-in-their-beds, link sausages snugged into biscuit dough and baked until brown. With Dad’s scrambled eggs with cheese and chives, breakfast made a powerful statement about the world spinning the right direction.

I honestly forgot about all my problems while eating and clowning with my sisters. Other than the earlier solitary embarrassment of having to sit down to pee, it could have been an ordinary Sunday.

I think I surprised everyone when I said I wanted to go to church. We weren’t a big church-going family —Christmas and Easter pretty much— but when Dad asked why, I said, “I just want to check in with the Guy Upstairs to be sure I’m still on His good side. What with the luck I’ve been having….”

That kind of made sense to him — he probably thought I meant our team winning streak — so he nodded and the rest of the family agreed. It was a fine fall day and Mom and the other girls looked forward to dressing up a bit. “Scoot,” Mom ordered and my sisters scampered off to their bedroom, almost squealing with glee.

The irony, if that’s the word, of that bit didn’t occur to me until I was standing in front of my closet wondering what I should wear. I shook that off and tried to be decisive. The dark blue suit I had last worn to a June wedding had been tight then, but it turned out to fit well enough. A bit looser, in fact, than I remembered it had been. Should I be pleased at that? I couldn’t tell.

Then I thought maybe the white shirt I had picked looked a bit stiff, so I changed it out for a pale blue one with a thin gray stripe. Better. A string tie with a brass lion’s head clasp, plus my Oxford-style black dress shoes and I was set. My black socks would do; all my navy ones were dirty. I decided I probably should have a few more pairs of navy for when I was wearing so much blue.

I went down the hall to the living room and found Dad watching a sports show about the NFL games schedule. The Cowboys and Broncos get most of the local support (about evenly divided because nobody likes the California teams), and both looked likely to win their games later in the day. “Denver and Dallas,” said Dad. “Wouldn’t that be a Super Bowl to see?” As a salesman, he had to be careful not to show much preference for either local favorite.

“I guess,” I said. Denver had yet to play in a post-season game, so such an outcome was unlikely. Besides, I had enough football to think about without imagining matchups within the pros. I sat on the couch and watched the announcers blather meaninglessly. The TV analysts never seemed to have any more knowledge or insight about the teams than the local blowhards.

I’d never considered that I had any real chance of making the NFL, but still, my new circumstance made the whole thing a bit — poignant, I guess is the word. Jake could try for a professional career, if he wanted, but the important thing was to win enough games to get him into a good school.

I had lost the prospect of a scholarship to even a second or third tier school. Not that I had really counted on that, either. I’d probably end up going to State down in Tempe in a couple of years. My grades were good enough to get in and there were grants and loans available. Football? Not unless things changed back.

I wanted to stop thinking about that, so I tried to concentrate on what Dad was watching, but it all seemed like so much noise. Had there been a time I lived and breathed football? Only a week or so ago, I wouldn’t have felt the need to fake interest.

Everything seemed to lead back to what had happened Friday night. Suddenly, I had to bite my lip to keep it from trembling. My life had changed so much. I got up suddenly and headed out the side door to the yard, in case I started crying.

“What’s up, son?” Dad called after me.

“Just... checking on Wugger,” I said, the lie coming so easily it shamed me. To ease my guilt, I emptied Wug’s large medal water bowl and refilled it. He ambled in from his usual resting place under the trees at the far end of the yard and accepted some affectionate pats and ear rubs.

But Wug was all business and kept an eye on the back fence even while being petted. Sometimes I imagined him as one of those dogs in the cartoons that punches a time clock in his struggle against Wile E. Coyote. We did have coyotes, bobcats, mountain lions, and black bears in the area, so Wug wasn’t being paranoid, just cautious.

Still, his seriousness about his tasks as guard dog cracked me up when I spent any time thinking about it. And he’d done his other job, the one he didn’t even know he had, cheering me up and out of the mood I had fallen into. I laughed then thumped him on the side and congratulated him with a “Wug is a good dog,” just as Dad called out.

“We’re leaving, Pete!” his voice came from the front yard. He and Mom were taking the family car while my sisters had talked me into giving them a ride in Jake’s big truck.

I gave Wugger a good-bye ear ruffle and wandered around to the side yard where I found my sisters waiting for me beside Jake’s big red truck.

“You wish this was yours, huh?” Jordan teased while Molly mimed opening the door.

I shrugged. “Dad’s hinting I may be getting something off the used lot soon.” I grinned at her, “Then it will be your turn to drive the Mom-mobile as soon as you can get a license.”

She smiled. “That’s a couple years away. You’ll be gone to college and I bet I can get something off the lot from Dad, too.”

I rolled my eyes but she was probably right. Dad spoiled his girls. Having thought that, I couldn’t unthink it. How would Dad and Mom react when they found out about me?

“I wanna car, too!” Molly complained.

Jordan and I laughed at her, then I opened the heavy truck door and boosted her inside. Jordan didn’t need help, so I trotted around to the driver’s door and we got under way.

Molly and Jordan nattered about something while I realized that I had been putting off thinking about why I wanted to go to church. God doesn’t have a complaint department, I think I remember some pastor preaching bout that once. Everything happens for a reason.

I sighed. The mysterious ways were a little too mysterious right now.

But I remembered another sermon, one that was on counting your blessings. I needed to do some thinking about that. Mom has a phrase she uses to describe me when I’m really deep in thought. She says that I’m “masticating my brain.” I had to look that up, but yeah, I really had something to chew on this time.