North Star Writers Group

It was around five on a Friday afternoon and the telephone at the house jangled. I was on a ladder painting a wall in the basement and I jumped down and raced to the phone.

“Hello,” the voice on the other end of the line said. “This is Barbara Bush

and . . .”

That’s when I hung up on her. I immediately regretted it.

I mean, there she was — the mother of the president — and she was calling me and I slammed down the receiver before she had a chance to say much of anything.

The first thing that came to my mind was what my mother would have thought if she knew I’d done that.

Mom raised me to be honest, caring and respectful to everybody, which I assume included the mothers of U.S. presidents. If I had a dime for every time she told me “Robby, always respect your elders, priests and police officers,” I’d be driving a BMW now.

And even though Mom never actually came right out and said, “Above all, be polite to Eleanor Roosevelt if she ever calls you at home.” I have to assume she would have wanted me to be that way.

My only defense in hanging up on the president’s mother was that I was very busy at the time of Barb’s . . . I mean her call . . . but that excuse would never fly with Mom.

Immediately after I hung up the phone, I decided it was probably just a recorded message from Mrs. Bush urging me to vote on Election Day. But as I resumed my painting, I got to thinking that maybe it wasn’t a recording at all, but a real call, and the first thing to come to my mind was what if she tells her son about my rudeness and he reports me to the Secret Service?

I can just see it now. The Bushes are spending a quiet evening at home watching "Wheel of Fortune" with other family members when the president asks “So how was your day, Mom?”

“Real nice, George, except for when I called Bob Batz in Brookville, Ohio and he hung up on me,” she replies. An hour later, 11 heavily armed Secret Service agents are flying out of Washington.

I’ve spent two weeks trying to come up with a way to atone for my snub of Mrs. Bush.

“Why don’t you send flowers?” a co-worker suggested.

Another wrote a little poem and told me to send it to her. It goes like this:

“Roses are red,

Violets blue.
I’m really, really sorry
For hanging up on you.”

I finally decided I’ll just write a simple and sincere note apologizing for my actions

I’ll begin my note with "Please accept my apologies for the rudeness I displayed when you called.” I’ll end it with “My name is Bob Batz, and I approve of this message.”

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