Here a funeral, there a funeral

Keeping my father waiting for me at a funeral while my son goes poop.

I expect my star on the Sandwich Generation Walk of Fame any day now.

My uncle’s burial service was today. It went very nicely, except for the fact that we were late.

I HUH-AY-T, with a capital “ait”, being late for anything, much less a funeral where, a) the deceased is my family, and, b) where we (my family) makes up over half the attendees.

My dad is a Marine, let’s say me being late for his brother’s service wasn’t a lot of fun.

My 4 year old announced that he had to go potty RIGHT NOW! about 10 minutes after our already late-ish departure for the ceremony, so, what do you do? He did his thing, and, we continued on our way.

The cemetery is located in a rather industrial area, and, after having hit every red light in town, I about hit my last straw when we got behind a dump truck moving about 20 mph. It was a good thing I wasn’t the one with the “How’s My Driving? Call 1-800-Get-Outta-My-Way”, bumper sticker, or, there would have been a couple of calls.

But, all was well, it was very nice, and, several of my dad’s co-workers came. They are like family, and, he doesn’t even realize it, sometimes.

I also saw a couple of nice people who are relatives of some sort, I think the widow of my dad’s cousin, and, her daughter. We remarked that we sure had seen a lot of each other lately, but, we decided that it might be better if we just planned to go to lunch sometime, instead.