Chatting with my niece last week as we played with her toddler, I heard a touching story from the toddler play school. Leah, my great-niece, is 18 months old. Last week it was Daddy's day off, so he brought her to play school where she practices concepts like "up" "down" and "around" with other tiny kids. Suddenly, a little boy ran to Ronnie and clung to him like nobody's business. The boy's mother came over, a little embarrassed. "He thinks you're his daddy." Turns out the little boy's daddy wears his sunglasses "down" and sports a two-day beard like my niece's husband. God bless Ronnie, he held the boy and played with him the whole session. It was heartbreaking for him to hear the child wail when the time came for him to be buckled into his car seat. "Daddy works on an oil rig," she explained. "We only see him every couple of months."
I couldn't help pray for that young family, and that tiny boy, when I heard the story last week. Oilmen's families know the risks, but they're glad to have a job that pays well. But every time daddy goes to work, I'm sure the mommies say an extra prayer that they'll be safe. And now, with eleven rig workers missing somewhere in the Gulf of Mexico, I am praying even more for them and for the other families who are in the worst limbo this life has to offer. With the rig itself now sunk, and oil everywhere, how long will it be before they have some solid news?
I e-mailed my brother (his legal specialization is insurance involving oil rigs) for his take on the event; he's out of the office. No surprise there.