Sunday, October 23, 2005

Memory, NOT by Andrew Lloyd Webber

Years ago, I had a student whose primary passions were Elvis, deer hunting with his dad, and motorcycles.

One day, while riding his motorcycle to work one morning, his father hit a deer and was killed.

I went to the funeral home to pay my respects, and there was an Elvis impersonator sitting in a wicker chair on the mortuary porch.

I signed the registry book and went on home. I was afraid to go inside.

I've been sorry ever since.

But honestly. . . . Elvis, deer, and motorcycles, all in one fell swoop. What might have awaited me if I'd gone on inside?

I'm hoping that kid has different passions now.

Because, you know, sometimes when they flower, all hell breaks loose.