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"How sharper it is than a serpent's tooth to have a thankless child." - Shakespeare, King Lear
Rod Flanders had saved every single penny he’d made at his summer job to buy a boat. Marge recalled that fact with a sudden, surprising shock of clarity as she listened to Ned anxiously try to talk his son out of an expedition from her side of the fence.
It was too dangerous. He might die. He’d never be able to forgive himself if he lost Rod like Edna, and like his sainted mother Maude.
Marge kept one ear on the conversation as she pulled down sheets from the clothesline. Her hands folded everything together with deliberate slowness, deliberate consideration.
When Rod defied his father she felt a stroke of gladness. This was his dream, just as Ned had longed to make the Leftorium a reality. Why couldn’t Ned see that? She knew suddenly why. It was the same flock of panicked butterflies floating about in her own heart, the ones that had nearly kept Lisa from joining the Viennese Philharmonic. The one that had almost kept Bart from backpacking across Europe at seventeen. The one that had nearly denied Maggie voice lessons because of the fear of disappointment.
She supposed that was why she was rooting so hard for those Flanders boys. She saw so much of herself in Ned’s desperate attempt at keeping the boys from getting hurt.
The front door slammed, leaving Ned standing in his yard, head hanging down. Marge gave him a few minutes before approaching, fresh laundry tucked under her arm.
“Ned,” she said softly, “would you like a cup of coffee?”
He wiped his eyes and managed a smile for her. “I’ll take some plain water if you don’t mind, but you know I always have time for your family Marge.”
Marge gently shepherded him around the side gate and into the house. If anyone could help Ned with this problem than it would be her.