By Alan Sorensen
I was trying to think of what to write in today's column when Spud came in it was about 8:30 or so and said he was expecting. I asked what it was he was expecting, because if it was money from me, he was out of luck. He just smiled and asked if I was ready to be a grandpa. He'd taken Jessica to the hospital during the night.
Wouldn't you know it would be in the midst of a spring snowstorm?
I gave him $10, sent him back to the hospital, and thought about it. I don't know if I'm ready, especially if it's a girl. I raised boys, or I should say, they raised me. I know nothing about girls except what I read in the papers.
This week we had a couple of bizarre stories on the wire about girls. In each instance, they were plotting to kill other girls.
The first was about three first-graders in a Midwest state who plotted to lure a classmate into some nearby woods and kill her. They weren't sure whether they wanted to shoot, stab or hang her.
They were caught when they tried to recruit other girls in the class to help with the plot. One of the would-be 7-year-old recruits told her folks, who told the cops, who took it seriously.
Officers found written plans the girls worked out and the girls admitted their evil intentions against the girl they said they were jealous of.
The mother of the girl who was the intended victim said she would not transfer her daughter to another school. She said it was best for her daughter to stay in the school where all of her friends were. Hello?
I guess her reasoning wasn't really all that faulty, because the three girls involved in the plot were suspended indefinitely.
The second plot was reported over the wire this morning. It involved two seventh-grade Florida girls who intended to murder three of their classmates by luring them behind the school, bludgeoning them with a sack full of batteries and then slitting their throats.
I don't know if I'm ready for grandparenthood. When I was a kid, girls were sugar and spice and everything nice. They wore pink ribbons in their hair and short pink dresses with white anklets and black patent leather pumps. The girls I see around Havre seem nice enough, but.
I was in the throes of trying to write a story and lay out some pages when Three-Wheeler called and said he needed a ride to the doctor's office. Actually, his call came before Spud delivered his good news.
I took time out of my busy schedule to get Dan and take him to the doctor's. I left him there with his medicine and the prospect of getting a needle jammed into him. I told him to have the nurses call when they were done with him.
About 20 minutes later they called. In the meantime, I'd gotten most of my work done and was about to start on this column. Since taking him up the hill had allowed me to slow down and get the most pressing work done on my return to the office, I figured taking him home would put the finishing touches on this column.
On the way back to his house, Dan said he supposed our journey to the doctor and home again would be in the paper today, and I said sure. I'd write about the joys a parent feels when he's around to take his kids to the doctor.
I understand Jessica's still in the hospital as I write this and I'm still not a granddad. What ever they have, I'm sure it will be just fine with me. After all, they can't do any worse than Three-Wheeler and Three-Wheeler's about as good as they get.
Woe! Just got the call from Spud 11:30 or so. It's a 5-pound plus boy short labor.
Now their real living begins.