In the Distance

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I love the sound of a train whistle in the distance.

Or the sound of an airplane as it travels above. I think of the people onboard going somewhere. 

Doing important things.

Yet the sound in the distance that I hate more than anything else are sirens.

Last week we were on the golf course when all hell broke loose.

“Something is burning,” someone said.

I hoped that was all it was. People usually get out in time in a fire.

I was imagining a bad car wreck. Lives torn to pieces.

The worst kind of sound, and I do realize that sometimes there’s a bit of overkill involved. I once had a fender-bender and cops, ambulances and all sorts of emergency vehicles showed up.

I bring it all up because Saturday nights are the worst.

Maybe it’s about being a Dad but I hear all sorts of sirens on Saturday nights.

My kids go out from time to time and now…

…30-some years later I get why my Dad would say:

“Why don’t you stay here?”

Even after I was married with kids Dad would call up and ask me over for dinner.

With 6 kids out there he must have spent a lot of time worrying about sirens in the distance.

“Have you heard from Sam?” I asked as we watched a movie.

“Yes.”

“Is he on his way home?”

“It’s 9:30,” Kathy said, “And yes, I heard from him.”

Kathy’s tone was a little impatient.

“I’m just asking.”

“Again, it’s 9:30. He’s 21 years old. Were you home at 9:30 when you were 21?”

“Depends when I started drinking,” I said.

And maybe it all changed when I put drinking on the back burner, or when I had to worry about kids, or when I became a safety man, or when my bed time was around 10:30 on a Saturday night…

…but the sound I wanted to hear was the train whistle.

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