Miss Fiddyment is one of my alter egos. She is the little girl who hid under the bed and read comic books and ate Hershey’s Semi-Sweet chocolate bars and believed she would grow up to be somebody’s wife and mother — but not yet.
Suddenly, she is 53 years old! and her one child is going off on a “road trip” with his hippie friends to a hippie gathering in the desert in SoCal for a weekend of frolicking hippieness and the Miss Fiddyment in me will not rest until he is home again. He’s an adult gawdsake, but I worry.
The things we love best are the most fragile: our children, our friends, the living — whether human, animal, or even a rose bush — the living. Our prayer: please god let them live, and is it too much to ask to let them be happy?