Have You Seen This Child?

I was walking down the street one day, and saw this woman handing out flyers. I tried to avoid her, but she hunted me down.

"Have you seen this boy? He's my son." She said.

I took the flyer, and on it was a high school year book picture of a guy named Rick. He was wearing his varsity letterman's jacket and was holding a football. I looked closer at the picture: I knew this man.

I told the woman that I could take her to see her son tonight if she wanted. He was performing at a bar near by, but I didn't know how to get in touch with him, so it would be better if she just accompanied me to the bar instead of trying to contact him ahead of time. I understood how anxious she was to see her son; she hadn't seen him in three years.

I took Mads, my Norwegian companion, with me when we picked up the woman at her hotel room. I knew he'd never forgive me if he missed this event. The woman felt uncomfortable when she realized the bar we were in had very few members of her gender. The well-built man in only a bow tie and spandex bicycle shorts handing out jell-o shots didn't help. I sat her down at a table in front near the stage, and Mads ordered us a round of TNTs. Luckily, Rick was the first drag queen performing that night, dressed like Liza Minelli. The woman jumped out of her seat.

"Rick, my God, what have they down to you?"

The show stopped completely. There was a faint squeal of microphone feedback mixed with a few gasps.

"Mother? What the hell are you doing here?"

"What the hell am I doing here? What are you...?"

I nudged Mads on the shoulder with my elbow, and he understood. We stood up with our drinks, nodded a good bye to the woman, and walked out. She called after me, but I pretended not to hear. I'd done my good deed for the year, and now it was time to relax in the hot tub.