Karmic Retribution

Thirty years ago, when I was in my prime, Jason and I would pray to our slow Southern gods for mountains of rain. In those days, the gap between our yard and our neighbor's yard would easily fill with half a foot of clean, pure water.

Much to my dear Mother's horror, on the frequent occasion that our prayers were granted, we would immediately rush to that vast expanse of rain with our make-shift skim boards (sheets of un-used wood panels) and proceed for hours to get thoroughly drenched from tip to tail.

Mom called it "ditch water." We called it fun.

I caught a double barrel dose of karmic retribution from Liam today. I watched in parental horror as he ran through a fresh puddle of rain water. Proceeded to get drenched from  head to toe. Soaked through and through. Watched my ghost made flesh. Sprinting through mud and mire. All those pangs of fear and concerned that I thrust upon my Mother were returned in full to me. Every one.

I called it "ditch water." Liam called it fun.