Saturday, May 30, 2009

Dead Beat

We were driving through Iowa. D and I were going to visit my Grandpa and we were on one of those seemingly endless two-lane highways that wind leisurely through the state. I was gazing out the window, watching the cornfields go by, when I spotted a large hand-painted sign on the side of the road. It was white with red letters, all in caps. It read:


I got a phone call from a friend today that reminded me it's for deadbeat dads too.

I have a hunch that, in his self-reflective moments of quiet contemplation, her dad is already living in it. But I know that doesn't make her feel any better.

Perhaps I should paint a sign of my own and strategically place it between Nevada and Ft. Scott.

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