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The Button


We have to take our car in for repair. There’s a button. It’s not working right.

We were driving home this evening after supper. The girls were jazzed from too much fruit punch and french fries. Then Michael made the fatal mistake of trying to explain that some members of our family are blood-related and some are not. Yes, I know -- foolish. (Although, I greatly admire his commitment to their education.)

The first WHY fell like a small pebble down the mountainside. But I could feel the vibration of the inevitable avalanche. Then -- whooosh! -- we were covered, bombarded, crushed by a wall of WHYs.

We dodged a few WHYs and knocked a few back until they overwhelmed us. Finally we had no choice. We pushed the button on the dashboard of our car -- the button below the AC and Circulation buttons. We pushed and we pushed.

“Why are we blood related?”

Push...

“Why did your great grandma die?”

Push harder...

“Why is it dark in the car?”

Push... it’s not working!... PUSH!

We tried and tried, but we couldn’t get it to work.

It’s weird. This button hasn’t worked since we bought the car three years ago -- this button under the AC and Circulation buttons. We probably should have taken it in a long time ago.

But we keep forgetting. Until the next avalanche comes.

And then we press the button again, hoping (just hoping) that the emergency soundproof barrier will miraculously lower from the ceiling, separating the front and back seats of our car. But so far it hasn't. Apparently it’s still busted.

Maybe we’ll take it in this weekend...



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