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If you tried a real man, you wouldn't be so quick to judge others."She stormed out, slamming the door, leaving Mom with a blank stare on her shocked, hurt face. I came over to console her. I said, "Mom, don't worry. She'll be back. You know how excitable she's been lately. It's that Red guy." I know, Judy. I've seen it before--the golden phallus." The golden what?" Oh, nothing. Let's just say, some women go berserk over some men. Actually, over some mens' penises. The golden phallus. That's what happened to Susan. I understand. I've seen it before. The bad part is, golden pricks are only found on big pricks. Red is the biggest, so his is undoubtedly twenty-four carat. She certainly has it bad, and he's going to ruin her reputation. He'll probably get her fired before he dumps her." Mom, Susan is right about one thing; you should go out."Mom sat up sharply and shot back, "I don't need that from you, Judy. I am still your mother, and I will not be addressed that way by a. "What?" he shouted back at his wife."Where the fuck is my photo?" Oh," the old man said as he looked away."What did you do?" the old lady stared at her husband.He sat her down and explained what he had done with her favorite photo. "That's not her mom!" she yelled at him."I know that," he sighed. "Jessie needed motivation, and that photo gave it to her." It's mine!" she yelled back"No, it's not!" he yelled back. "You found it on the side of the street when you were running away from your parents and if you hadn't bent over to pick it up…" You wouldn't have lost control of your car and hit the tree," she smiled."And we wouldn't have met," he smiled back."Well I hope she takes care of it," she smiled as she got up. "How did you convince her it was her mother?" I scribbled a date at the top," he shrugged. "I left the Jacksonville part." You devil!" I wonder who that woman really was?" We will never know."A few weeks later. Steven was filling his car up at the gas station. "Wow, it's.
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It was a tiny tin box. One I’d seen many many times before. One I’d gotten into, read the note, and put it’s contents on my fingers. It was the box that held their wedding rings. For almost twenty three years they’d sat in the box, and I’d get them out and think about a time when my mom and dad were married. They were probably happy for a time. When they divorced, my mom asked for his ring so I could have the set one day. He told her not to pawn it. She didn’t. Ironically enough, his wedding band fits my ring finger. So for the days before the funeral, and the day of, the simple silver band resided on my ring finger. My thumb would brush across it occasionally, thoughtfully, and I felt like a part of my dad was with me. A part that had everything to do with me. A part that represented the three of us had been a family once. I was too young to remember, and don’t blame either one of them for getting divorced. Having it on my finger offered comfort. A symbol of their love, just as I.

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