jammns

Conner and I exited the mall arcade into the wet parking lot. “This way,” I said and headed left towards the down escalator    hidden around the corner.

As he went right, Conner retorted , “But the van is parked over here.”

Increasing my pace I tried to persuade him with “There is more rain cover this way.”, but the argument was over – we took separate paths.

I was nearly at the van reaching into my pocket for the keys, then heard the booming shout of my son across the parking lot  “Dad! Help!!”. Conner had slipped in the slick grass of the short hill between the Dave and Buster’s and was now grabbing his leg, groaning in pain and growling  “Ow, ow, ow” over and over.

Later, after the ER visit, when his wits returned I joke: you should follow your Dad,  or you’ll fall over wishing you had.