Thinking about my Mom this week had me thinking about a childhood poem from many years ago. It was scotched tape among her paints and brushes for years on a cork board with alot of this and more of that. Now years later it still brings a smile.
“A little boy and his Mother were crossing a River …”
Mother: “son please hold my hand.”
Son: “no Mom you hold my hand!”
Mother: ” son what’s the difference?”
Son: ” if I hold your hand and something happens to me chances are that I may let your hand go. BUT if you hold my hand I know for sure you will never let it go MOM.”