Last Friday started out uneventful. I attended my regular men’s Bible study meeting at 6:15 a.m., had a

few appointments in the morning and looked forward to attending

a basketball game at E.D. White High School in Thibodaux with

my wife, Jeanne. She later decided not to go because she didn’t feel

well.

My daughter Ronny came to the rescue and offered me to ride with her and her friend, Beth Hitt. It sounded like a good idea! I didn’t have to drive and would sit in the back seat, expecting to relax with the intention of just seeing a basketball game. Our reason for going was to see Beth’s daughter, Alex, a senior, play her last game and also to see my niece, Brenda, and her daughter, Michelle, who plays on the E.D.White team.

When we were underway, within three minutes I complained about the heat. “Daddy, you’re hot?” Ronny asked. “Yes,” I answered, “but don’t worry. I’m done on one side and will just turn over.”

We finally had the temperature at a comfortable level where we could breathe when Ronny and Beth started talking about stopping at Wal-Mart in Thibodaux to buy some cream of shrimp soup. No, not fresh soup – canned soup. That puzzled me, but being the nice person that I am, I didn’t say what I was thinking.

Arriving at Wal-Mart, we entered, and Ronny said, “Daddy, you can sit at Subway and wait. We won’t be long.” I sat there watching the rest of the world go by, and I’m sure looking like a lonely, old man.

They finally came back empty-handed. No soup. I had to laugh

and asked, sarcastically, if Wal-

Mart in Thibodaux was the only location that carried cream of shrimp soup. “No,” Ronny answered, “but Beth’s husband, Eddie, said

it’s a dollar cheaper in Thibo-

daux.”

Finally, back in the car and on the way to the game, Ronny mentioned she hoped the boy who was to meet her with the Mr. Potato Head costumes would be there. I didn’t want to go there, but I did. “What’s the scoop on the Mr. Potato Head costumes?” I asked. Ronny said they were borrowed a few weeks ago

but never returned, and someone else needed them. The boy never showed up, so Ronny said we would have to stop in Vacherie on the way back and find the house. (Thank God her husband, Michael, drove to Vacherie and retrieved the costumes.)

The games weren’t that good, but we saw a lot of people we hadn’t seen in a while and had a good time.

The trip back home was not the only thing on Ronny and Beth’s agenda. We had to stop at Bubba’s II because Ronny and Beth love to eat out, and I have to admit I also fit in that category.

When the bill came I was conveniently in the men’s room and Beth paid. (I hope Eddie doesn’t read this article.)

Ronny received a call from her daughter Elise and was the first to leave the restaurant. When Beth and I stepped out, she was surrounded by Reece, Robbie, Ben and Bennett, four of Elise’s friends.

Elise is very independent, lives life to the fullest and doesn’t come home too often. She attends NSU and loves Thibodaux. As Ronny was talking to her, I said, “Tell Elise that when I die, I hope the funeral is on a weekend so she can make it.” Her answer was, “No, tell him a Thursday would be better. That’s my off day.”

When I finally got home, I remembered what Ronny told me years ago. “Daddy, our family puts the ‘fun’ in dysfunctional.”

If you have any question or comments, please write to Get High on Life, P.O. Drawer U, Reserve, LA 70084, call 985-652-8477, or email hkeller@comcast.net.