Kintropy In Action

"Hey, Dad," Gabriel started. 

I glanced in the rear view mirror, then switched back to the road.  "Yeah?"

"If we have to sleep in the car, at least I have my teddy bear."

I sighed.  Gabriel and I had left the Rose Garden parking lot about five minutes before.  We had second row seats to the Winterhawks Teddy Bear Toss game.  Gabriel and I had tossed four sacrifical teddy bears on to the ice after the Winterhawks first goal, but I had bought two keepers and kept them in the car for him (trust me:  the tears of separation from the sacrifical bears would have been pretty grim without this little bit of planning).

But now, driving home, I had made a different turn.  The signs were guiding us to the 5.  I knew we would make it to the 5 eventually.  Gabriel, though, based on some experience, was convinced that Dad was yet again lost.

"We're almost to the 5, Gabriel."

"But if we do have to sleep in the car, I have my teddy bear.  Will it be morning when we get home?"

Double sigh.

The freeway did ultimately appear and work-drive-patterns kicked in, leading me to the correct interchanges to bring us home.  All of us home:  Gabriel, me, the golden teddy bear, and the chocolate brown teddy bear.

-- Dad