We All Have A Story And Everyone's Story Counts

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This old gal...

Can't remember the last time she walked in the rain...the pouring rain...the driving, pouring rain for a mile or so...maybe 50 years ago...maybe never...

Was asked to walk in the Fourth of July parade with that step-son of mine—he a candidate for Iowa House of Representatives...

It was hot...really hot...was worried Sweaty-Betty-me would overheat and pass out or something and be an embarrassment, but just as the parade started—like the exact minute almost—it started to sprinkle just enough to cool us off. Then, three minutes later, the skies opened up...

And there it was...rain pelting...big, heavy drops in the face...couldn't see...couldn't avoid rivers running down the sides of the streets...

Handed out candy anyway...those drenched little bodies holding their plastic grocery sacks open, those pleading eyes, those hands dripping wet as they waved—who could resist?

Turned a corner and realized one of us was being too social. Wet rat that she was, chatting too much as she greeted each child, had somehow gotten a block behind the group...

Had to run—drenched, blobby body to the core, eyes forced shut from the impact of the drops. Pink Nikes splashing in puddles, laces untied, shorts drooping...

And it was fun...gloriously fun...and for the first time in a long time this old gal felt a renewed sense of patriotism...

That step-son of mine carrying the American flag proudly...his campaign about stories...how everyone has a story...how everyone's story counts...

And what an honor to be a part of something like that—a good group of people making memories, walking together, laughing together, getting soaked together as Mother Nature makes sure an old gal doesn't get too hot...

What a story to remember...what a story to tell...

We all have a story...and everyone's story counts...
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And that husband of mine...agrees...