by Roger Crain

Created on: March 28, 2010   Last Updated: March 29, 2010

It was Friday afternoon, and Marty was on the phone in the hope of finalizing plans for a last-minute flight itinerary.  He exhortingly drop the receiver back into the cradle, and breathed a sigh of relief:  Success!  Even though he was miles away from his humble beginnings, it was only a two-hour commute by plane from the big city to that small, backwater town that he knew like the back of his hand.  Ah, the mere thought of his hometown sent shivers of exhilaration coursing through his body imbuing him with such stamina that nothing or no one could relinquished his hope of being among kin and kindred once more. 

All the rest of that afternoon, he thought of those previous memories of digging for crawfish on the bank of the Mississippi River; or, going skinny dipping in a body of water so shallow that the consensus of having done it too often forced the elders to call it "mud-crawling."  Such memories are what fueled his enthusiasm for life, and invigorated him on his quest to be faithful to this ritual of affairs in spending Sundays; and thus, quality time with the family.  He remembered earlier Sundays of sitting on the porch of Big Mama's house, and chatting endlessly about life's vicissitudes and ending their conversation with a new sense of purpose.

The time has come, once again, for him to throw down the gauntlet, for the past ten years of living in the big city has taken its toll on what is truly important in life.  Thus standing to his feet, he buttoned his coat and grabbed his briefcase; then, strolling out of his office amidst smiles of gratitude for his presence, he exhorted once more in the prospect of being among family.

Once outside, the traffic congestion and din of the city hit him like a life sentence.  He realized that he could never be free in a city that was immuned to those significant yet small facets of life that he had always known and cherished.  Thus getting into a taxicab, he paid the driver one hundred dollars and told him he would like to make two stops before ridding himself of this city if only for a weekend.  Sundays with the family was now a possible reality; very soon now he would be back among his old stomping ground; and so, he relished the idea of being able to bond once more with kin and kindred.

Sundays with the family were times of sharing your successes and failures, and exhorting each individual member while re-invigorating yourself with those most important facets of life.  Marty knew this; and so, he invariably stepped out of the taxicab at the airport and stood patiently on the curb while the driver loaded his baggage onto a dolly.  Then, out of the blue, he reached into his pocket and took out another hundred dollar bill, and invariably handed it to the driver.  For a moment, he looked smug in his satisfaction at having extended such a generous gratuity to the grateful recipient who stood beside his cab with a sardonic expression on his face.

Inside the terminal, the ticket agent confirmed his flight reservation and he was finally ready to shake the dust of the city from off his feet.  Even seated comfortably in the airplane that slight turbulence didn't affect his attitude toward his hometown and its people.  He was going home to re-affirmed his faith in kin and kindred, and ultimately that of his fellow man.  There was nothing in this world that matters most then spending quality time with the family.

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