The sailing ship

I promised Noah we would go to the zoo next week, but I forgot to tell Jan. In particular, I said that we could see kangaroos. I don't know if they have kangaroos at the Detroit Zoo. I sure hope so.

I was vulnerable. He was seated in the passenger seat, the Taurus was in the driveway, motor running. He played with most everything in reach - rear view mirror, the CD player (I helped him insert the discs) which played the Spencer Davis Group ("I'm a Man"), the center console, which I taught him how to open, the sun visors.

Inside the console, he found the chap stick. He struggled to remove the seal and handed me the detritus. He climbed into the backseat for some reason and began applying it to his lips. You have to watch him because he's still learning, and sometimes he'll bite off a small piece. But he's learned it doesn't taste very good, so that's fixing itself.

In the back seat, I pulled down the center console, which surprised him. I showed him the cup holders, and told him he could rest comfortably in the back seat with a cool drink at the ready, while I drove, although I'm sure he would prefer to drive. I envisioned a trip to South Bend to visit the University of Notre Dame.

I showed him the napkins in the rear console, and for some reason he began saying "No napkins." There was a clear emphasis on the first syllable; don't ask me why. I repeated it, and together we said it several times.

In the end, it was like a sailing ship with two passengers. We traded captaincy, each of us happily surrendering the authority for a short while. The point was to explore, to discover, to test. That we did. What a delightful kid.