"That's 'them'

   not 'us'.  A mad dash to sign up voters and make it "home" had been underway.  To the accusation that democrats have more fun, in part because of "star power" and dancing, my father had been introduced to Rock Hudson, no one knew what day it was.  

  The other old guys waved from a pick up truck.  The rest area was kind of quiet on the backside where people were meeting up to travel on for work.  Traffic on the highway was moving at a good clip.

  A semi did not honk for people to get out of the way.  And it was driving too fast through the area first one way then the other.  The old guys waved at Rock, Come on, then looked more seriously worried.  Pointing at watch, time to go, big lips dramatizing, go, go, now the other one couldn't get the dramatic one to roll down the window.  

  People standing around started commenting on the semi truck driving crazy.  Mama was half way out of the station wagon, honey, HONEY.  She was trying to let him know her money that she couldn't find had been found.  She put her travel money in one of her purses and told one of the boys to bring it to Dad.  He flat out said "No." She got out and was going to go around the front of the car but the strap got caught on the mirror and it jerked her backwards just as the semi came roaring past.  She kind of fell into sitting on the ground.  Dad and Rock got horrified looks on their faces because it looked like the semi had crashed into her and took her off with it.  Other people got in front of the section of rest area where we were and frantically waved for the truck to STOP, STOP!  It breaked hard and skidded to a stop.  And the driver was pulled out of the driver's seat to boos and idiot and you could have killed someone.

  We had a passenger on the way back.  Tall skinny guy like my Dad.  He smelled like alcohol so Mom let us keep the window seats and Dad could see him in the rearview mirror because he was sitting in the middle.  He had a lot on his mind but he wasn't confused.  Our parents were young parents and so early in life had become good advice givers but God's in charge.  The passenger sort of told his story without details, private person, like us, but the gist of his headache was having a lot of opportunity.  Happens at a certain age, my mother took any chance she got to hint to the boys that life was going to get better.  

  The guy had pressures on him not because of his Dad but because of his Dad.  And because stepping up has unforseen risk.  My Dad launched into his what is life without risk, communism lecture.  But unlike with us, the passenger's eyes did not glaze over.  The big guys got kind of fired up.  And all the running around connecting with other Republicans made more sense in the sense of people wanting to protect rights.  And those rights not being just important to colonials but to real human beings in contemporary times.  My Mom suggested prioritizing.  Him and my Dad picked family and work.  And as for seeming selfish in some ways, and putting self first, God will show you.  If you let Him, God will show you everything.  Even what to do.  Sherry did pass around Grandma Pearl's hymnbook because it smelled like grandma.  Living in New York was far from her grandparents and she was always missing them.

  By the time we got back to the city, the big guys wanted a drink.  Mama Sherry was being "shy" about a "romantic date".  

  "We already did dating; or did you forget?!"

  "Dinner and dancing!  Sounds like a date to me!" The middle brother got excited.  Some old place the bands are trying to bring back to life.  Dad checked it out.  Our passenger had to drain the dragon, he elbowed our mother like slapping a buddy on the back.  Mom quickly covered the closest kid's ears.

  Too late?!  Grunts and guffaws, lugging amplifiers into place, some ha-ha's and a HA-HA-HA.

  "Just getting started." A server almost tripped, "Gaawd".  A man's face reddened and he got on hands and knees to de-bump the rug covering cords and plugs.  He tried to grab her ankle, she shoed him away.  He dramatically pulled himself up the microphone stand, check, check.  Lame jokes about no checks here, and waiter, waiter I'll take a rain check, put everyday of the week on the top of mine.

  Our mom tried some non-alcoholic drinks.  And settled on Coca-Cola.  Even when Dad ordered a bottle of wine she didn't really drink that.  The music got going and us kids were up and down to dance and socialize and to determine that Mom hadn't told Dad yet.  So then we were dropping all kinds of hints and trying to get them to sit close so she'd have the chance.  People dressed much fancier than us were filling up the place.  A gorgeous woman asked our table in her thick accent, "Have you seen Donald?"

  "Who?"

  "MY boyfriend.  I'm going to kill him."

  Shoulders shrugged.  "We're busy here," the middle brother told her.  

  Mom blushed.  Dad's face was all red from having to drink all the wine.  Our questioning him about what do you think this is about were kind of drowned out by the music.  A waitress was hanging near our table and even she got it, so whisper asked Sherry, "Are you pregnant?". Daddy looked at Mom and Mom looked at all of us, and said, "Why yes, I'll have another!" And then did a little smile to Dad.  "Another Coke?" Dad asked.  The waitress spoke to the band as to our request, their wedding song.  Then she came back and said, "Let's start a congo line before the fast music stops." People fell in.

  Obnoxious sounds, it was agreed upon as description.  Bands and the crime in the streets was typical late night in the area.  And while our family was trying to share and relay the good news in the Congo line, others were weaving in and out as if it were a fence.  Someone tipsied and spilt some alcohol near the cords of the amplifiers and was rather gruffly pulled from the leg-kicking and always does circle boring dancing.

  Gun shots real close by and supposed-stars toasting with a chalice at a nearby table had all good family people laying low until we could get off the street.  And in daylight we were leaving.  Some of the big guys in new shirts for the wine and spit up stains.  I was looking at the sidewalk kind of mental journaling where I was and when everyone started walking I was following the Donald guy thinking it was Dad.  My Dad was like, "Lara!  That's them, not us."