Wet Cement

Our parents have a beautiful backyard with a pool. Our whole family has spent many a weekend swimming, napping, eating dinner, and conversing by the pool. Yesterday, dad had some cement work done to fix an area that had started to crack on the outer rim of the deck. So it was probably a good thing that the little grandkids weren’t there to step in the fresh cement. Well, who would have thought his oldest daughter would be the troublemaker. Mom and I were out admiring the new cement and visiting when I stepped back and put a nice size ten image of a cheap flip flop in the freshly poured cement. Mom thought it was hysterical…(flash back to when I was a teenager and had to go tell my dad I dinged the car, the boat, the car again. You get the picture). Even having to go in and tell dad what I did brought that feeling of dread I had as a teenager. So in the house I went, mom in tow, cackling like a hen to tell dad my mishap. I no sooner said, “dad, you won’t believe…” and he says, “you stepped in the cement”. The years haven’t changed that look of good lord, what have you done now, or the effect it had on me then and still does now. So out we go to survey the damage. Dad takes a broom and tries to even out the cement, mom still laughing. All in all, it doesn’t look that bad, but maybe there is a silver lining to it all. It will always be a memory I will have about that day with my parent’s and the laugh we had over the fiasco and that lost memory about what it meant to be a teenager again.

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