Waiting on Iraq | Previous Challenge Entry

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TITLE: Waiting on Iraq | Previous Challenge Entry
By Kati Shimoni
06/12/08
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We hadn't gone bike riding for years. Crouching low we raced head to head down the bike trail that wove its way through the city. Sylvia tilted her dark head back and laughed loudly coming down the home stretch towards the picnic site. We were greeted by a handful of cheers and one "Har-har-har," as Sylvia's husband, Joe let out a great pirate guffaw. All the little guys clamored around the bicycles nearly knocking them over. "My turn Mommy, please, my turn!" Little Sam stretched all of his two-year old height to reach the top of the bike seat and was pulled away several times with a warning. Poppy sat and watched him with a quirky smile on his face. "Sam that is Poppy's bike, what did your mommy say?" Sam's little finger slowly hooked his lower lip and he turned and walked back to find something else to trouble.

It was easy to take it all in. The picnic table was loaded with Popeye's fried chicken and mom's favorite Lays potato chips, a large organic salad from Sylvia's garden was eaten away quickly and everyone asked for a piece of cheesecake with fat strawberries and glasses of homemade ice cold tea. While the food settled everyone sat around and laughed and told the same old stories from childhood, "You know how mom was," Sylvia's head bobbled in sarcasm. "I can just see her face," Aunt Lynn nearly choked on a gulp of tea.

At one point all the men lined up and sprinted madly down the park, bare-footed and stern-faced. "Who won? Who won?" Mom was shouting but it was too close to call. It was a refreshing and light-hearted affair except for the tinge of knowing that Poppy would be leaving soon. Everyone felt it amidst the cajoling and friendly sibling rivalries, the herding of our small bunch of preschoolers and passing the baby from one set of arms to the next.

It was the only topic that didn't come up. I knew mom felt it the most. She was keeping herself very busy and was greatly exuberant and so dramatic that her usual theatrics were put to shame as she swung her arms and jumped and made funny faces and then gave a shrieking imitation of the Wicked Witch of the West, her brown eyes on fire, "I'm melting…" All the kids gathered around her with stricken faces, little smiles peaking. Mom was both weepy and laughing and enthusiastic.

On the tennis court we played until the sweat poured down my back and I walked red-faced at sun down back to the group. "I'm beat. I think Mom ran those last ten pounds off of me." Poppy's blue eyes sparkled as he laughed and pulled his wife close. "That's my girl!"

The day was at an end and the kids were getting cranky and runny-nosed. Sitting down for a last glass of raspberry iced tea the topic turned towards politics and the upcoming elections. Most of us were in agreement about candidates. The usual sarcasm and heated comments were made by the political buffs in our clan but nobody mentioned the war.

Patriots are rare and Poppy was one of them. He, for us, was all that mattered in the war. As we hugged and kissed and said our goodbyes I knew what was to come. Sylvia held a wriggling Sam up to wave and Poppy waved back slowly driving off with a dazed and flushed, Mom sitting next to him. This solder was wanted back already and waiting on the L-rd would not come easily. For us the war would be over when Poppy came home.

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