Here She Comes...Miss America

Before last summer, I was someone's Miss America.  Someone chosen as his best of the best.  And, for a brief time, I think I'm safe to say that my sons also thought of me as their Miss America, or at least the best of the peanut-butter-and-jelly-set moms.  Two of them are married now and their wives wear the crown.  My youngest has a girlfriend who is taller, thinner and prettier than I ever was.  Everyone I know is someone's Miss America...but not me anymore.

A couple of weeks ago, I decided to go out on a Friday night and headed to a local church carnival.  Walking alone with my snow cone,
I mused about the teenagers mixing and mingling with excited hopes of finding that first love, the young moms and dads taking pictures of their kids on the rides, the senior citizens holding each others arms as they maneuvered over cables and curbs.  It was a raucous smoky crowded night and I was a little depressed being alone.


I was surprised when my phone rang and I saw that it was my youngest son calling.  "What are you doing?" he asked.  "Want to meet us for a drink?" So, with my blue snow cone tongue, I headed to his local hangout for a beer with him, his girlfriend and some of their friends. They were all pretty interesting, with varied careers including a police officer, retail manager, doctor, sports announcer and house painter to name a few. I was able to get to know them beyond the names I've occasionally heard my son shout out, like "I'm going to the track with Larry...see you later."

When I said I was heading out, a couple of them said I was fun and urged me to stay and do a shot with them.  A nice ending to a pretty decent night. As I was driving home, I decided that if I can't be Miss America, I can very content with being Miss Congeniality. After all, according to Miss America rules, it's given to the most charismatic and inspirational participant. And participate I will.