Pocket Shopping

Not exactly. But close...

‘Twas Christmas. My Mom had us all in the car.

It was time for the shopping. We had to go far,

To Lethbridge ‘most seventy miles away.

We talked and we laughed—just enjoying the day.

My brothers and sister had done this before,

Gone shopping for Christmas with Mom at the stores.

But for four-year-old me, this time was the first,

I was way beyond eager, nigh ready to burst.

But when she had parked and I looked from the car,

From the ranch to the city was more than just far,

I had somehow moved on to a whole other sphere,

And I stared at the thousands of folks that were here.

I was used to my world, I’ll admit it. It’s true.

I was here, I must shop. What else could I do?

All my siblings had spread—in the crowd, disappeared,

I slowly climbed out, tried to swallow my fear.

Mother picked up my brother and gave me a grin,

As I stood there so anxious on trembling limbs.

“Let’s go shop for Christmas, Diane,” to me, said.

And I nodded and shivered and wished I was dead.

But then she said something that filled me with hope,

As she showed me the pocket attached to her coat,

“Now you hold on tight and we’ll wander along,

And no one can hurt you and nothing go wrong.”

So I did and I found that my mother was right,

Holding tight to her pocket, I let go of my fright.

I discovered that shopping for Christmas was fun!

If I held really tight till the shopping was done.

Years have passed, I forgot ‘pocket shopping’ with Mom,

Till one day, with my kids, we had errands to run,

And with my arms full with the baby and all,

We started our tour of the stores in the mall.

A tug on my coat and I looked down to see,

A toddler’s hand clutch my pocket. And me.

I knew how she felt—the security. Calm.

I’d felt it myself with a pocket. And Mom.