"Hello, Ma'am? This is Sgt. French..."

Every day on my way home from work, I'd called Maxx to see how his day went, to ask what he was doing and to find out what time he'd be home for dinner. On this particular Monday, I knew he was planning to visit the Marine Recruiting office after school, so I wasn't surprised when my call went straight to voicemail. Garry and I got home, read some mail, and I started dinner. I decided to call Maxx again so dinner would be hot and ready when he got home. Again, my call went straight to Maxx's voicemail. No worries, it's still only 5:30 PM. He probably decided to hang with some friends after his visit with the Marines and forgot to turn his phone back on. He'll call soon. Garry and I decided to eat at 6:00 PM. We talked a bit about where Maxx might be and how unusual it is that he hasn't called or left a message on the kitchen counter, as we have always done as a family to let everyone know of our whereabouts and expected time home. Garry said, "Don't worry, he'll be home soon, even if he doesn't call." We cleaned up the kitchen at around 7:00 PM, got our lunch and clothes ready for the next day, and sat down to read and relax. All through this time, I'm beginning to get worried. My thoughts were the same ones hard-wired for centuries into mothers all over the world: "Maxx has already totalled his Jaguar, walking away unscathed by the grace of God! What if he's wrecked his car again?" and "What if he's hurt?" to "I can't believe he's being so thoughtless! He knows to call, he knows we eat dinner together, he KNOWS BETTER!!!" and finally "Wait 'til he gets home, you can bet he's not going ANYWHERE after school tomorrow!"

At 8:00 PM the phone rings:
"Hello, Ma'am? This is Sgt. French of the United States Marines. I'm calling to tell you I have your son, Maxx, here with me. He's scored very high on his ASVAB (Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery), so we're taking him to the Crowne Plaza overnight for medical processing at the MEPS (Military Entrance Processing Station) in downtown Dallas tomorrow morning. You should be very proud of your son, ma'am!"

I tersely and slowly responded to this proud, young man, "Sgt. French, let me speak with my son!"

"...Hi, mom!"

"MAXX, you were supposed to get information today, NOT JOIN THE MARINES!"

(Side note: When Maxx was 2-years-old, my sister, Carol, said, "When anyone asks him what his name is, he's gonna yell 'My name is "MAXX!!!,' 'cause you're always yelling his name to stop the next disaster from happening!" )

I felt like the next disaster was happening.