Mother's Day and Sponge Bob

Take rush hour in Dallas, . . . on a holiday, . . . add an accident in the west-bound 4-lanes of Interstate 20, . . . traffic moving at 2.34 MPH, . . . a blown-out radiator . . . at 6:00 PM on Sunday afternoon . . . And what do you have?

Frustration? . . . Goes without saying.

Humidity? . . . What else do you expect in Dallas at 85 degrees.

Road help? . . . Not much now days once fellow-drivers see you checking the bars on your cell phone.

Repair Shop? . . . Don't even think about it until 8:00 AM Monday morning.

However, this was not a true representation of our four-day, Mother's Day weekend. We did spend quality time with my oldest son and daughter-in-law in the quaint town of Winnsboro, Texas.

Jon and Katie were finishing up their final performance for the Mossula Children Theater before regrouping and heading off for a summer tour of Germany and Turkey. We enjoyed lots of laughter and bad jokes, watching them spin their magic with the youth in this small Texas town of 3,500.

After an extended lunch at Cracker Barrel, we parted ways, not looking forward to the five-and-a-half hour return trip to Colorado City. The boys were in the back seat, mesmerized by their I-pods and CD players. I had successfully run the gauntlet of downtown Dallas, smugly aware of no mistakes which would have diverted us to the town of "Frontage Road."

Abruptly the traffic came to a halt; A fender-bender five miles ahead foiling our escape attempt from the metroplex. My attention shifted from avoiding someones bumper at 70 MPH to lane-switching, like a desperate shopper jockeying for the fastest moving checkout in a Super Wal-Mart.

Topping the next overpass, I could almost see what was bringing westbound Texans to a creep. Suddenly the sound which strikes fear in the heart of even the most experienced motorist.

BOOM! . . . HISS! . . . Steam billowing around the cracks of the hood like some Old Testament sacrifice before the Tabernacle in the Wilderness. The hose had not just blown off the radiator, but part of the radiator was blown away, parts of it still attached to the dangling hose.

Okay, . . . figure out what exit you are closest to. . . .

Call AAA, . . . knowing a tow-truck is going to creep through the same traffic nightmare you've been delivered from. . . .

Endure the sympathetic stares of fellow-drivers, thanking the gods that it happened to you and not them.

Our teenagers . . . now out of their music-induced comas . . . stand staring at the engine, offering their expert advice. The 19-year-old, an auto tech student, is convinced he could fix it "in no time" if we only carried a spare radiator in the trunk at all times. Of course, in his birth-county of Russia, it is common practice to pull over to the side of the road and repair your own car.

Never to be out done, my wife came up with a festive way to pass the hour+ wait on the wrecker. She had me stand at the rear of the car, . . . facing on coming traffic, . . . wearing my bright yellow Sponge Bob T-shirt, . . . as she held up a yellow legal pad with "Happy Mother's Day" emblazoned in large black letters.

The response of aggravated drivers was amazing. Once I got over my anxiety of feeling totally stupid, I enjoyed the smiles, thumbs-up, and honks of the motorists creeping by. Some signaled their mothers were in the car with them. Grandmothers of all ethnicity mouthed "God Bless You." Cameras protruded from rolled down windows. Even macho young men gestured they were speaking to their moms on their cell phones.

Eventually our teen boys (huddled in front of our car from parental-embarrassment) peered out and joined the festivities by getting semis' to honk their horns.

Eighteen hours later, we were back on the road, venturing home to our 6 cats. This was a Mother's Day not soon forgotten by the Brantleys. And when friends ask my wife what she got for Mother's Day 2007, she smiles and asks, . . .

"I got a tow-truck and new radiator . . . What did you get?"