Good Again

Good Again

“Frankie, why are you still in bed?” Sandra asked her little brother.

“I’m taking the day off,” Frankie mumbled. “Go away.”

“From what? It’s not like you have a job.”

“I’m taking the day off from everything.”

“Oh really? You have to do something.”

“No, I don’t. I’m going to just lay here all day.”

“No food?”

“I don’t need any food.”

“Well, that is serious. Why are you taking the day off anyway?”

“I’m tired of being me. It’s too hard.”

“Too hard? Being you is too hard?”

“Yes.”

“Can I ask why? You didn’t seem to think it was too hard yesterday.”

“Well, yesterday I hadn’t done something yet that I accidently did this morning after I got up.”

“Ah, ha! So, you have been up? And when you were up where did you go?”

“Down cellar.”

“Frankie! You didn’t get into Dad’s tools again, did you?”

“I just wanted to try to fix my truck and all I needed was pliers.”

“What happened?”

“I knocked over a can of paint.”

“So, pick it up!”

“It opened, and spilled down Dad’s toolbox. But just the outside, and I cleaned it up! But with Dad’s shirt, by accident! So, I put the shirt in the washer, and then the washer made a weird noise and stopped. And I’m just not getting up again today. I’m afraid.”

“With good reason,” she said, and she left.

Ten minutes later Mom and Dad walked in: “You won’t go in the shop without permission again until you are at least seven,” Dad said, “and you won’t use the washer again until after your mother teaches you how. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Now get up,” Mom said, “I made pancakes.” They turned and left the room.

And just like that, everything was good again.