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November 4, 2006 ~ Not in My House You Don't
Saturday.
In the back bedroom, we keep an old radio on the floor. It is tuned to FM static. Grove goes to bed before we do, so we turn on that radio for some white noise at night, to help him sleep through any noises that we make out in the house.
The other day, I had yet to turn that radio off, and Grove was playing with some board books on the floor next to it, babbling to them. I was here in the study, one room away, but checking on him every few minutes because I worry, even though I know that room is safe.
He had grown quiet, and as I got up to check on him, suddenly the static turned into loud music. I smiled. He must have figured out how to turn the dial on that old radio. But then there was the "brrrrt!" the radio makes when it changes from FM to AM, and then a voice I knew but had never wanted to hear again was booming, "Welcome to the Rush Limbaugh Show, America's most--"
As if that voice were more dangerous than arcing electricity or a fall down stairs, I ran the last few steps and slammed the off switch. And as Grove sat there grinning up at me ("Look what I figured out how to do, Mama!"), I could hear the ghost of my future self saying, "No! Not in my house you don't!"
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