jayellebee's Blog

March 18, 2014

Can’t Win ’em All

Filed under: Musings — Joanne @ 4:00 pm
Tags: , ,

I just received this e-rejection:

BombeckThank you for entering the Erma Bombeck Writing Competition. We had a record number of entries this year with 853 from 13 different countries and all but two U.S. states. The essays ranged from funny and self-deprecating to poignant and heart-warming, and our panel of judges had their work cut out for them. Unfortunately, your essay was not chosen. To see a complete list of the winning entries, please visit Library’s website at www.wclibrary.info/erma. Good luck in 2016.

If you remember Erma, click on the link and enjoy the winning entries in this annual contest.  or, you can read my losing entry with no link required.

                                                                                                                                 The Security Blanket

            “Dont be such a worrier,” Mom told me. “Have you ever seen a young man carry his security blanket to the altar?”

            In time, my first two boys did retire their blankies. But not before a valuable lesson had been learned. By me.

           I prepared for the birth of my third son by purchasing a pair of identical baby blankets. There would be no inconsolable sobbing as this child held vigil beside the washer and dryer. No late night trips to Granny’s house to retrieve his over-looked and irreplaceable sleep aid. This time, one of the soft twins would always be clean and at the ready, materializing when needed as if by magic. I was in charge.
 
Linus
            Yeah, right.
 
            I have three sons because I didn’t want four. God keeps a supply of “special” babies for women like me who don’t know when enough is enough. The final addition to our family was born strong-willed. An individual. If he had come first, he would have been an only.
 
            From a very tender age, Number Three hauled both blankies around with him. But, having two allowed him to share one. Like the time his great grandmother needed to rest before sitting down to a noisy holiday dinner. My toddler led her to his room, settled her on his bed and smoothed one blanket over her. Only one.
 
            The first day of kindergarten, he stroked the jumbled mass on the car’s backseat before darting into the classroom without so much as a backwards glance. After three hours, my little scholar emerged from school, rushed past me and buried his face in the folded pile of laundered comfort. He recharged on the way home, ensconced in layers of pilled polyester and frayed satin binding.
 
            Several years later, my youngster donated one of his blankets to be entombed in the family pet cemetery with a deceased cat. I had nightmares about him exhuming the body to retrieve his precious property, but he toughed it out and the grave remained undisturbed.
           
            My boy was the one other parents referenced when discussing peer pressure. He was never malicious, but he never much cared what others thought of him, either. As a teen, he jammed on his drum set with his blanket draped over his shoulders. Later, the rag’s remnants matriculated to college.
 
            My son and his delightful fiancée will be wed in June. I wish Mom had lived long enough to enjoy what promises to be a unique celebration. If she had, she would frisk him before the ceremony, checking for his blankie. After all, there’s a first time for everything.
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