String Divorce by RD Larson (best motivational books for students txt) π
Excerpt from the book:
When parents fight sometimes their kids have to step in and stop them. Taken from my ebook "Mama Tried to Raise a Lady" available at http://www.fictionwise.com/ebooks/eBook29478.htm
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both shut-up. I was half-asleep when the car door opened.
Pop got in, slammed the door and started the car. Mama jumped in, smoking a cigarette. I was shocked because I didn't know she could smoke.
The car roared away. I was wide awake now. Mama's smoke filled the car and hurt my throat. I never said a word. Neither did my brother.
All night long after we got home, I laid awake in my bed, thinking about dancing and fighting. I could hear my mother and my father's voices, but I was too upset to get out of bed to eavesdrop on them like I usually did.
When I got up in the morning, they had gotten a string divorce. Mama had strung a white string throughout the house, right down the middle of each room. Except for the bathroom. One side of the string was hers and one side was Pop's. The string even went across the center of the kitchen table.
They didn't talk to each other at all. Mama would say, "Baby Rose, tell your father. . ." Whatever she said to tell him, I would tell him. He would tell ME to tell her whatever his answer was. My poor noodle brother always tried to make whoever was doing the talking sound really happy and nice.
"Pop," noodle-head would say to him, "Mama says, Honey, would you like some gravy?"
Of course, she hadn't called him honey. It would make her glare at my brother, then at my father. And nobody laughed but me.
"Mama," my brother would say, "Your loving husband would like another of your delicious biscuits."
What a kick. I had to leave the table during every meal for two weeks for laughing.
Meanwhile, I worked on the string every time I went into the washroom. I sawed it back and forth over the doorjamb. I didn't talk nicely to either one of them and I just read my books and did my chores. Pretty much minded my own business. Except for sawing the string back and forth.
Saturday, after two weeks, Mama was setting a plate of fried eggs and bacon on the table for breakfast. The sun was streaming in the windows. I had Candy inside for once. He was sitting right behind me, panting and drooling at the good food. When Mama let go of the plate, I reached for it. Candy jumped forward in anticipation.
Pow! The string broke. Candy got a slice of bacon. I got an egg.
"Well, I guess the string divorce is over, " said Mama.
"I sure to hell hope so, I missed you, darling." Pop said. Darling! Ick. I almost gagged. I would have, too, if I hadn't been sneaking another bacon to Candy.
They were smooching the whole rest of the day and didn't have a fight for weeks after that. My brother missed the excitement. But I didn't.
Pop got in, slammed the door and started the car. Mama jumped in, smoking a cigarette. I was shocked because I didn't know she could smoke.
The car roared away. I was wide awake now. Mama's smoke filled the car and hurt my throat. I never said a word. Neither did my brother.
All night long after we got home, I laid awake in my bed, thinking about dancing and fighting. I could hear my mother and my father's voices, but I was too upset to get out of bed to eavesdrop on them like I usually did.
When I got up in the morning, they had gotten a string divorce. Mama had strung a white string throughout the house, right down the middle of each room. Except for the bathroom. One side of the string was hers and one side was Pop's. The string even went across the center of the kitchen table.
They didn't talk to each other at all. Mama would say, "Baby Rose, tell your father. . ." Whatever she said to tell him, I would tell him. He would tell ME to tell her whatever his answer was. My poor noodle brother always tried to make whoever was doing the talking sound really happy and nice.
"Pop," noodle-head would say to him, "Mama says, Honey, would you like some gravy?"
Of course, she hadn't called him honey. It would make her glare at my brother, then at my father. And nobody laughed but me.
"Mama," my brother would say, "Your loving husband would like another of your delicious biscuits."
What a kick. I had to leave the table during every meal for two weeks for laughing.
Meanwhile, I worked on the string every time I went into the washroom. I sawed it back and forth over the doorjamb. I didn't talk nicely to either one of them and I just read my books and did my chores. Pretty much minded my own business. Except for sawing the string back and forth.
Saturday, after two weeks, Mama was setting a plate of fried eggs and bacon on the table for breakfast. The sun was streaming in the windows. I had Candy inside for once. He was sitting right behind me, panting and drooling at the good food. When Mama let go of the plate, I reached for it. Candy jumped forward in anticipation.
Pow! The string broke. Candy got a slice of bacon. I got an egg.
"Well, I guess the string divorce is over, " said Mama.
"I sure to hell hope so, I missed you, darling." Pop said. Darling! Ick. I almost gagged. I would have, too, if I hadn't been sneaking another bacon to Candy.
They were smooching the whole rest of the day and didn't have a fight for weeks after that. My brother missed the excitement. But I didn't.
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Publication Date: 12-31-2009
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