Moss, is humor writer from Tennessee. She writes a
weekly human interest column about daily life and the funny
things that happen to everyone.
She has written for the Daily News of Kingsport, Griffin Journal,
Oakridge Now, Atlanta Woman Magazine, Aberdeen Examiner, Angleton
Advocate, and Smyrna AM, a supplement of the Murfreesboro Daily News
Journal. She has been
published by Voyageur Press, McGraw Hill, and the good folks
at Guidepost Books. Her articles have appeared in
numerous anthologies and other publications, both in print and online.
She is a
former board member and past Editor of the Columnists.com, website of the National Society of Newspaper
oldest and largest professional organization
for columnists. She is the Web Editor of
Humorists.com and a founder of the Southern Humorists writers'
organization. She is writer, editor, and webmaster of HumorColumnist.com.
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Online Since 1999
||Goin' to the Crick....
to the Crick
“Can I go to the creek, grandma?”
“No, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I said, thinking
of the possible danger.
The crick (creek) runs through a grassy field across the street from my
house. I know it is over there, but I had never paid much
attention to it except from a distance until my grandson found
out about it from the other kids.
My daughter intervened. She thought it was better to let a child
satisfy his curiosity. There is just a natural attraction between boys and
water. If he knows he can go with an adult, then he won’t try to go by
himself, she reasoned. That seemed to make sense.
The next evening, he decided he wanted to go to the creek again
and since he is not allowed to go by himself, she went with him.
About dark he came in crying, saying he didn't know where my
“It’s mommy,” he sobbed, “She dropped her lighter and
went back to look for it. I don’t know where she is. I
think she fell in the creek and hit her head on a rock.”
Of course, I was in a panic when I heard this. “Show me where you were!” I exclaimed. We crossed the
street and ran through the large grassy field, as fast as a
grandma with bad knees could run. It was much further than it
looked from the other side of the street.
“Mommy, Mommy, where are you?” called my grandson.
“Did you see her fall?”
“No, but she didn’t come back!”
We finally reached the creek. “Good grief, that thing
isn’t a creek, it’s a baby river!” I didn’t know it was that big! We climbed
down the bank onto a big rock and peered into the darkness. By
now it was pitch dark and we couldn’t see a thing.
“Go back and get the flashlight, honey. I’ll stay here
and look for her.”
I was scrambling over tree roots and large rocks, calling and
calling, but was unable to see anything except dark water. I couldn’t tell
how deep it was. Then I suddenly stepped on an uneven spot and turned my
ankle, falling down against a rock. .
I decided to go back home and call 911.
As I limped back to the house, I saw two flashlights coming
toward me across the field. As I got closer I saw that it
was my daughter with my grandson.
“Where were you?” I asked my daughter. “We thought you
fell in the creek.” She had come back a slightly different
way, and we had missed seeing her in the dark.
Naturally, I was beginning to feel pretty foolish by then.
My ankle was throbbing, probably sprained, and I had scrapped my other leg,
which was turning black and blue.
So, my daughter didn’t fall – I did – but, at least I
didn’t hit my head on
However, I’m not allowed to go to the creek by myself any
Copyright 1999-2005 Sheila Moss
Nashville, TN 37219
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