The Circle of Guilt

Remind me why I had children?

By now it should be obvious that the SJG comes from a rare subspecies, found mainly in Sherman Oaks.  I'm equal parts water and worry.  Last night, when the youngest son, the MC known as Scott D, arrived home later than the time he'd agreed to -- it's all there on the document I had notarized -- I couldn't help but imagine my own mother winking at me from up above, and saying, "Karma's a bitch."  Not that I ever heard her utter that phrase, but it's what came to me in my moment of "where the eff is he?" That, and the image of my parents, standing upstairs, looking down at the 18-year-old SJG, when I finally got home around, oh, let's say after 2 a.m.-ish.  They were ghost white, already sitting shiva.  In a monotone, my father said, "We've called the police.  We've called the hospitals.  We've called the fire department.  We've called the National Guard."  I commenced with the apologies.  I begged forgiveness.  I promised to never be late again.  Just like that, I'd lost their parental trust.  I had to earn it back.  I had a year abroad riding on it.  If I couldn't come home on time, how could they trust me to live safely in England?  The logic was twisted, but powerful.   I still think of that one late night I put my parents through, whenever I find myself waiting for a son to come home in one piece, God willing.  All these years later, I'm still paying for my one and only boo-boo.  The Circle of Guilt.  What goes around, comes around, baby.  On that, you can rely.