They Call The Wind....Well, In This Case, Rachel

The birth certificate say Rachel is a girl. Sometimes I wonder.

Last weekend, her grandmother was in the hospital. It's okay, she was released after two days.

We stopped by to visit Saturday afternoon. The hospital is in one of Atlanta's northern suburbs, about 45 minutes to an hour from our house. The lobby was eerily quiet.

No one manned the information desk. The shiny floors hardly looked trodden upon. An occasional doctor or orderly would walk by, but beyond that, there were few people, other than one woman quietly talking on her cell phone. Rachel and I were in the corridor, waiting for Rebecca to buy something in the gift shop for her mother.

Bored, Rachel sat on the floor. Sometimes she lay on her side or twirled around on her behind. Suddenly, the antiseptic silence was pierced by the distinct, loud, well enunciated words of my daughter, across from the hospital chapel. "I FARTED!" she proclaimed.

What did that birth certificate say again?