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Stopped at the red light

Sgt. Foster Mayo Contributing Writer | Hagadone News Network | UPDATED 5 years AGO
by Sgt. Foster Mayo Contributing Writer
| January 16, 2020 12:00 AM

I had the after-holidays “HO-HUMS” BAD! The promised storm was probably not coming. Instead of arriving with a promised fury and much needed snowpack, it had resigned itself to a cloudy, overcast, foggy, dreary, leaden sky. I admit that it had taken control of my mood. I had been up since before dawn awaiting some sense of promise to the day, something that would shake the overhanging blight on my soul.

I needed something that would hijack the deep dwelling depression that had captured and imprisoned me. My morose and sullen manner had infected my contact with friends and work associates and had made me surly in my interaction with them. I’m sure that they were puzzled by the obvious brooding and my dour, inpatient responses to their inquiries of “what’s bothering you?”

They had no way to know or understand how my pendulum of despair had swung so far out of the normal range and, instead, was occupied by a predominant quality or characteristic of darkness. The sullen, somber sky from the mock storm, had opened a hemorrhaging pus of thoughts of family issues, health issues, work issues and ‘holiday ho-hums’ captained by the news of the death of the spouse of a close friend a few days before Christmas.

I was overwhelmed. Worse yet, I believed that I had earned the right to be overwhelmed. I wasn’t driving so I had the time, the inkling and capacity to be happy about being unhappy. I was Rhett Butler, hat and coat in hand, walking out the door, turning back over my shoulder, “Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn!”

As we slowed for a red light, we approached the intersection and the gray F150 that had already stopped in the outside lane to our right. In the back seat, securely attached with love and seat belts, a 3-year old little boy in his car seat, turned and looked at me.

This pure, innocent, Gerber looking baby, then smiled and waved at me. I couldn’t get my dark tinted window down fast enough to make certain that he saw me waving back.

From my deep chasm of hell, a child has smiled and waved at me. The clouds cleared, the sun shone, it made all the difference.

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ARTICLES BY SGT. FOSTER MAYO CONTRIBUTING WRITER

January 16, 2020 midnight

Stopped at the red light

I had the after-holidays “HO-HUMS” BAD! The promised storm was probably not coming. Instead of arriving with a promised fury and much needed snowpack, it had resigned itself to a cloudy, overcast, foggy, dreary, leaden sky. I admit that it had taken control of my mood. I had been up since before dawn awaiting some sense of promise to the day, something that would shake the overhanging blight on my soul.

January 30, 2020 midnight

'Today, I hope …'

Today I hope you’ll join with me in acknowledging guys like my sometimes not-so-lucky friend ‘John’. John wouldn’t hurt a housefly but one afternoon he tangled with the wrong guy and fell victim to robbery and minor bodily injury. John was homeless, lived on the street and usually carried his entire earthly possessions in a bedroll over his left shoulder. That is, until this other guy took possession by force. Whoosh, they were gone. Loss of his worldly goods and a black eye too, seemed hardly fair.

August 15, 2019 1 a.m.

Night Out Against Crime event scheduled Aug. 22

“Hello, Grandad, is that you? This is your grandson.”