"Well?" she demands.
He studies his shoes, shrugs his shoulders again and finally replies, "Well ... it gives me time to think about what I'm going to say before I say it."
The irritated teacher stares at him for as long as it took Bobby to answer before smiling and saying, "That is a good answer Bobby Elliott! We'll move on now to the next question for the next student."
It's a famous family story.
I'm uncertain where Uncle Bobby learned to take his time but he seems to have passed some of it on.
"Why are you walking so slow?" Sarah asks after re-routing herself two blocks because I've fallen behind.
"Are we in a hurry?" I ask.
"Well no," she explains, "you're just slow."
I've decided for Christmas I'm buying Sarah and the girls colorful foot shackles with four links of chain so they have to take little tiny baby steps every time we go anywhere.
That way ... they can slow down and appreciate things instead of always being in a hurry.
Plus the five of us can walk together as a family.
Now what makes this funny is I am a morning person ... they are not.
Leaping out of bed in a single bound into my black running shorts, UGA tee shirt and flip flops, I'm off to "The Breakfast Club" for coffee and back before Sarah rolls over and knows I'm gone.
In that time, I've had an outdoor shower, given the dogs and cat treats, taken out the trash, peered inside the neighbors house to see what's on television and updated everything on Facebook, LinkedIn, Google +, gmail, the Bar Church page and other things I'm working on.
Nevertheless I am the slow one.
Unless I take one of the girls shopping.
Oh I don't know ... say Cassidy, the 9 year old!
She's got $20 burning a hole in her blouse so I take her to Walmart ... having lost my mind because I love her ... and she takes me to the "Make-Up" section.
Holy Shit!
Who knew there was so much Make-Up ... little girls take so damn long looking at it ... Super Walmart's have worse customer service than the original box store ... and I decide ... it's a good thing I walk slow because Cassidy is taking a frigging life time to pick out the right Lip Gloss.
Super Walmart has cut a deal with Visa so the automated check out stands only take that particular credit card!
Cassidy has cash.
We stand in a line as long as the one Moses led out of Egypt.
Taking baby steps towards the cashier it strikes me ... in the South ... women wait until they're presented the bill to look inside their pocketbooks ... for their billfolds ... to find the credit card ... to slide through the machine ... to learn it now has a chip ... that you leave in the machine ... adding 37 minutes to Damn check out process.
"Did you find everything you need?" the cashier asks as Cassidy and I finally arrive at the Promised Land.
"Bitch," I say greeting her.
"Micheal," Cassidy scolds, takes me by the hand leading me to car at lightning speed.
So I don't get this whole speed thing with Sarah and the girls.
It's mandatory one minute and utterly appalling the next.
Either way I seem to be out of step.
I could use some Uncle Bobby words of wisdom right now.
