Superheroes

“Mom?” I held up an empty bottle. “Are we out of ketchup?” I loved the thick, red sauce, especially on fries, hot dogs and hamburgers, along with many other staples that found their way to our kitchen table. 

Mom took the bottle from my hand and scrutinized it. “Yes, I’m afraid so.” 

“Can’t you do that one thing?” 

Mom studied the container from the mouth. “Maybe for just a bit.” She strode to the kitchen sink, put a miniscule amount of water into the “empty”’ ketchup bottle, shook it vigorously for several minutes, then gave it back to me. 

I poured a few drops of this reconstituted ketchup onto my fries and tucked in. I’m not sure when I first witnessed Mom doing this trick with ketchup, but she’d done other inexplicable things too. 

If I couldn’t find something, Mom knew where to look. It didn’t matter whether it was schoolwork, missing clothing, a glove or even a beloved toy, nothing could hide from her magic. Mom’s radar found everything. And my mother wasn’t the only one. All my friends confirmed their mothers shared this same, uncanny talent. 

On the negative side, Mom knew when I didn’t do something. If I skipped making my bed before school, she didn’t even have to open my bedroom door to verify the truth. Mom worked for most of my childhood and had little time for nonsense. She just knew whenever I’d neglected an appointed task and sent me back to finish. This, especially, applied to homework, but I really had no cause for complaint. As I grew, I found out there were many questionable activities on my part that she never discovered. 

The fun thing was sharing them with her after I grew up. Turns out, I wasn’t as smart as I’d thought.