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Authors: Catherine Palmer
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Kim arrived in the morning until she left each evening. He paid her well, provided excellent health and retirement benefits, and treated her with respect.
“The extra hours are fine,” she assured him. “I appreciate your willingness to let me take so much time off for Luke.”
“Not a problem,” he said. “Seems like one of my six is always into some kind of trouble—a broken arm, a fever, a loose tooth, a skinned knee. The older ones run my poor wife around the bend with their hormone surges. If they aren’t in love, they’re sobbing their eyes out in the bathroom. The dramatics would do Shakespeare proud.”
Kim laughed. “Lydia is almost eleven, and I’m starting to see some of that. She constantly challenges our rules.”
“Eleven’s about the right age for the rebellion to start. My wife taught me the secret to good discipline. If anyone knows how to manage kids, it’s my Mary. When they’re little, the occasional time-out or a single swat on the backside will do the trick. About the time the pimples start, be ready to ground them when they misbehave. No TV, movies, time with friends—that kind of thing. When they hit fifteen, you’ve really got the keys to good behavior.”
With a sly grin, he pulled a key ring from his pocket and jangled it to emphasize his point. “Threaten to take away the car keys, and they’ll do anything you want,” he declared. “You see these? They’re Jordan’s. He’s eighteen and thinks he rules the world. But Dad owns the car. And when Jordan misses his curfew by an hour, Dad takes the keys. You can bet that kid will come home on time from here on out.”
Recalling the night Lydia had screamed and Luke had knocked the spoon from his frantic sister’s hand, Kim wondered if Dr. Groene’s parenting technique was really that simple. And it didn’t take into account the fact that her own family now had another authority figure living with them.
What would make Grandma Finley a help rather than a hindrance?
“I guess Luke is getting along pretty well these days,” Dr. Groene commented as he took a bottle of cold water from the refrigerator and twisted the cap until the seal broke. “Good thing Derek’s mother was able to come down from St. Louis and help out for a while. It shouldn’t be long before your boy gets his routine figured out.”
“He’s managing, but … it’s hard to be away from him. Even when I’m deep in the middle of a procedure, I realize I’m worrying about Luke.”
Dr. Groene nodded. “Yes, I can imagine.” He eyed her as he took a sip from his water bottle. “I remember how my wife worried the first few months after I was diagnosed.”
“You? Are you … are you a diabetic?” Kim stammered.
He smiled. “You make it sound like you just found out I’m an alien. Diabetics are not as rare as you think. I was nineteen when my doctor diagnosed me with type 1. Mary and I had been married less than a month.”
“I never knew. All these years.”
“I don’t let the disease own me. I like to be the boss, you know.” He winked as he stepped toward the door. “Here’s my motto: If you’ve got to be a diabetic, be a good one. Be disciplined. Monitor yourself.
Get a buddy to keep an eye on you for signs of trouble. Mary knows that if I start acting odd, she needs to take charge right away. When my blood sugar gets low, I dislike being compliant, and sometimes I’m even a little combative. But years ago we made a pact, and I’ve learned to obey my wife. The kids have known about my diabetes all their lives, and we’re used to it. In fact, I don’t even bother to look for a private room to give myself insulin. We can be watching TV or fooling around in the backyard, and I’ll whip out the ol’ kit.”
Kim stood staring at him, stunned. Never once had Dr. Groene mentioned having diabetes. He acted so normal about it. Even casual. As if it weren’t really a factor in his life.
Heading out the back door toward his car, he
“The extra hours are fine,” she assured him. “I appreciate your willingness to let me take so much time off for Luke.”
“Not a problem,” he said. “Seems like one of my six is always into some kind of trouble—a broken arm, a fever, a loose tooth, a skinned knee. The older ones run my poor wife around the bend with their hormone surges. If they aren’t in love, they’re sobbing their eyes out in the bathroom. The dramatics would do Shakespeare proud.”
Kim laughed. “Lydia is almost eleven, and I’m starting to see some of that. She constantly challenges our rules.”
“Eleven’s about the right age for the rebellion to start. My wife taught me the secret to good discipline. If anyone knows how to manage kids, it’s my Mary. When they’re little, the occasional time-out or a single swat on the backside will do the trick. About the time the pimples start, be ready to ground them when they misbehave. No TV, movies, time with friends—that kind of thing. When they hit fifteen, you’ve really got the keys to good behavior.”
With a sly grin, he pulled a key ring from his pocket and jangled it to emphasize his point. “Threaten to take away the car keys, and they’ll do anything you want,” he declared. “You see these? They’re Jordan’s. He’s eighteen and thinks he rules the world. But Dad owns the car. And when Jordan misses his curfew by an hour, Dad takes the keys. You can bet that kid will come home on time from here on out.”
Recalling the night Lydia had screamed and Luke had knocked the spoon from his frantic sister’s hand, Kim wondered if Dr. Groene’s parenting technique was really that simple. And it didn’t take into account the fact that her own family now had another authority figure living with them.
What would make Grandma Finley a help rather than a hindrance?
“I guess Luke is getting along pretty well these days,” Dr. Groene commented as he took a bottle of cold water from the refrigerator and twisted the cap until the seal broke. “Good thing Derek’s mother was able to come down from St. Louis and help out for a while. It shouldn’t be long before your boy gets his routine figured out.”
“He’s managing, but … it’s hard to be away from him. Even when I’m deep in the middle of a procedure, I realize I’m worrying about Luke.”
Dr. Groene nodded. “Yes, I can imagine.” He eyed her as he took a sip from his water bottle. “I remember how my wife worried the first few months after I was diagnosed.”
“You? Are you … are you a diabetic?” Kim stammered.
He smiled. “You make it sound like you just found out I’m an alien. Diabetics are not as rare as you think. I was nineteen when my doctor diagnosed me with type 1. Mary and I had been married less than a month.”
“I never knew. All these years.”
“I don’t let the disease own me. I like to be the boss, you know.” He winked as he stepped toward the door. “Here’s my motto: If you’ve got to be a diabetic, be a good one. Be disciplined. Monitor yourself.
Get a buddy to keep an eye on you for signs of trouble. Mary knows that if I start acting odd, she needs to take charge right away. When my blood sugar gets low, I dislike being compliant, and sometimes I’m even a little combative. But years ago we made a pact, and I’ve learned to obey my wife. The kids have known about my diabetes all their lives, and we’re used to it. In fact, I don’t even bother to look for a private room to give myself insulin. We can be watching TV or fooling around in the backyard, and I’ll whip out the ol’ kit.”
Kim stood staring at him, stunned. Never once had Dr. Groene mentioned having diabetes. He acted so normal about it. Even casual. As if it weren’t really a factor in his life.
Heading out the back door toward his car, he
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