It was a mutual thing. There he was, looking stunned, and there I was, feeling stunned.
It happened at the local Dairy Queen. Inspector Gadget, number three in the queue, had performed on the high school stage. He’d arrived, he’d sung and he’d helped out the choir, looking all handsome in his tux. Then, per Schrock tradition, we went to the DQ for ice cream.
Wanting to dot every “i” and cross every “t” before a visit with friends, I adjourned to the facilities. Remembering (ahem) that the women’s restroom was on the right, I trotted in, in time with the sunshine, completely lost in my thoughts.
I was drying my hands when the door burst open and a small boy catapulted into the room. It was Little Schrock. Seeing me, his eyes widened to the size of flying discs, and his chin hit the tops of his shoes.
“Why are you in the men’s bathroom?” he said. “Didn’t you read the sign?” Here, incredulity colored his voice, and a grin the size of the sixth ring of Saturn began to wrap around his head.
“You, my intelligent and highly-literate mother, didn’t read the sign? And I, a 7-year-old beginning reader, read the sign!” All of that and more was transmitted in those twinkly blue eyes and that planetary grin.
The next day, he appeared at the top of the stairs. “Remember how you went into the men’s bathroom yesterday ‘cause you didn’t read the signs?” His eyes were a-shining, and a half-and-half smile containing wonder and impishness flashed in time with his dimple.
I sighed. “I sure do. Now, how ‘bout this stays our little secret?”
“OK.” He grinned again, loving secrets. “It’s our secret.”