Excerpt
“Andrew, how dare you!” my mother exclaimed.
“I’m sorry, Mom, but it’s what I believe.”
We’d been on the road barely fifteen minutes before my mother accosted me about the rack filled with different varieties and flavors of hardy wines that was on display beside my kitchen cabinets. She’d kept quiet in my wife’s presence, but seized the opportunity as we rode alone together in the car.
“I didn’t raise you that way,” she continued. Her eyes welled with tears.
I felt bad for Mom as I had spent the majority of my life bending over backwards not to offend her. She visited me and my wife once a year and stayed up to three weeks. We welcomed her good southern cooking and her company, but this year we decided not to move the wine. We would respect her by not drinking a glass while she graced our home with her presence.
“Mom, I’m sorry. It was not my intention to offend you, but Sherry and I got tired of moving our wine every time you visited.”
“It shouldn’t be there in the first place, and you call yourself a preacher of the gospel.”
That one stung, but I was determined to discuss this subject with her calmly and to a stalemate if I had to, so I made a quick decision not to let her get under my skin.
“I am a minister of the gospel, Mom. That hasn’t changed.”
“As far as I’m concern it has,” she replied, wiping her eyes with a handkerchief she pulled from her overstuffed purse. “I don’t know what I would do if this ever got out.”
“I’m not ashamed that I drink a glass of wine from time to time, so it wouldn’t embarrass me if the word got out.”
“You should be embarrassed going to the ABC store. What if someone saw you?”
“Mom, wine is sold in grocery stores and wineries. I don’t go to the ABC store to buy my wine.”
“Somebody could spot you with a bottle in your shopping cart. That wouldn’t be good.”
“Well, I don’t usually buy grocery store wines. But I’m not afraid to.”