Life, actually…

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 HIDE YOUR THINGS LOCK YOUR CAR TAKE YOUR KEYS

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 HIDE YOUR THINGS

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LOCK YOUR CAR

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TAKE YOUR KEYS

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There’s that metallic sign again. I see it now and then, here in this Deep South village. A reminder like a note your Mom once packed in your school-bound lunch. HIDE YOUR MILK MONEY. Love, Mom.

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I feel certain that those who dreamed up the slogan, got it approved through all the proper channels, had it manufactured, distributed and installed…I feel certain that they feel some pride in instructing us civilians to be cautious and mindful.

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So, obey your Mom and your police department.  HIDE YOUR THINGS LOCK YOUR CAR TAKE YOUR KEYS SECURE YOUR MILK MONEY.

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What else would police and moms have us do, assuming they had our attention for more than three seconds?

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CHAIN YOUR BIKE, PULL YOUR PANTS UP OVER YOUR REAR CLEAVAGE, HIDE YOUR NOSE BEHIND YOUR MASK, DON’T DO STUPID STUFF, etc.

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I ponder the notion that Mom’s hand-penciled note and the big village sign have the same intent. Just to help us appreciate this fact, another sign might read WE ARE CONCERNED ABOUT YOUR WELFARE, SO PAY ATTENTION.

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Or, more aggressively, DO AS WE TELL YOU OR THERE WILL BE HECK TO PAY.

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Shall I be grateful or fearful?

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I’ll have to think about that.

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Almost any kindly thought can be transmogrified, once processed by a string of people who don’t know the original intent. Almost any idea can become oblique or fuzzy once unfettered.

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So, I must remember:

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LOCK YOUR KEYS TAKE YOUR THINGS HIDE YOUR CAR

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Uh, did I get that right?

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Oh, no

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© Jim Reed 2022 A.D.

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