By Jessie Newton Huls
I carried twenty pounds of jumbo russets through the streets. When I passed our house, Momma whirled her finger to signal another lap, punishment for a missing necklace I didn’t take.
Mrs. Pernicek slowed her Volkswagen, her mouth like she’d sucked a lemon.
“What in heavens?” she said. “I’m calling the authorities.”
But I knew Momma was already in charge.
“It’s ok,” I said. “I’m reminded of why Jesus carried his cross.” I shifted the potatoes and smelled earth. “And being shown what it’s like to have a disobedient child who’s a burden.”
Authorities never came. They’d probably heard about Momma.
Love this Jessie!
A story with a beginning, middle, and end. Nice…
I had a momma myself so I empathize. Out of the eight of us, I was the scapegoat. But I’m strong as an ox now, inside and out. Everything for a reason!