As a teenager I was watched over by a second mother, the mighty Mrs. Sheila. The very mention of the name makes children sing, the youthful weary, and evil flee. If Bob is the name above all mortal names, then Sheila is a very close second and I dare you to find anyone else that would tell you differently.
Mrs. Sheila was the neighborhood Mom. When everyone went somewhere to hang out, they ultimately ended up at Mrs. Sheila’s house. When someone needed a ride, Mrs. Sheila or her husband Paul (the man of the man, aka Bob Father) would always accommodate. Except for when the church had an activity, you could never, and I mean never, go over to their house and find it empty. It was a party all the time.
Parents never worried. Just saying, “I’ll be at Mrs. Sheila’s,” would immediately put them at ease. She is the ultimate mother hen and I mean that in a good way. If you had been entrusted in her care, she had the uncanny ability of knowing exactly what you where doing, where you were doing it, and who you were doing it with. On one occasion I was on the road with Bob and the band playing a show in a small town in south Georgia. We were at least 2 to 3 hours from home. We played a show until midnight and at the last second, our accommodations were changed to a hotel in another town. As we fell into bed that night, the hotel room phone rang. I answered. It was Sheila. In disbelief I handed the phone to Bob and immediately started checking his personal effects for tracking devices.
Although she watched after all of us like a hawk, she was also more than accepting of our crazy ideas and actions. She was game as long as we didn’t tear the house apart and even that was ok sometimes. From kicking each other where men should not kick each other, to wrestling each other out of breathe, to rolling down the highway laying on skateboards at 45 mph Mrs. Shelia never so much a nagged (mostly). Well, let’s just say she never stopped us, and that’s alright by any teenager’s standard.
Mrs. Sheila thank you for letting us raid your house, and keep you up till the whee hours of the morning. Thank you for providing a safe environment were kids could crash, have fun, and feel accepted and safe. You made every one of us feel loved and we always knew we had a second home with your family. May God bless your generosity and patience. I hope that you always feel surrounded by love and security.
And Bob Father, thanks for keeping Mrs. Sheila from killing us. You guys are awesome!
ON A SEPARATE NOTE: Memory Box Monday will be winding down for awhile as all of my memory box stuff is going into storage while we attempt to sell the house. I might have one more week’s worth of material hanging around here somewhere. Thanks!