May 1
In which Owen tells us a story.
Lately, on the way to school in the morning, Owen prefers to be picked up in front of the house.
"Cab driver," he'll shout in a deep voice with a hint of a British accent. "I'm late for the airport!" The accent lets me know that I have Sir Cedric Cedric of Scotland Yard in my taxi.
This morning, Sir Cedric gave me a little insight into his life's history.
"This is ancient gold," he told me, holding up a toy dubloon from a Pirate party he went to at the Gallaghers' house years ago in Kansas City. "It is 273 years old."
He pronounces "273" two-seven-three.
"My father discovered it in the desert."
"I'm a treasure hunter," I ask.
"Not you! My father! You're a cab driver."
"Oh. Yes sir. Your father was a great discoverer?"
"Yes. He also found treasures in the jungle. He's gave me all of the gold and treasures. He's dead."
"Oh, my. What happened to him?"
"He was on a ship in the ocean that sank."
"I see. Is that how he died?"
"No. He just fell into the water. He swam down and there were sharks, and electric eels and killer whales... and other killer fishes.... They ate him."
"Wow! I feel sorry for him."
"Why?"
"Well, that's a tough way to go."
Owen shrugs. "He's in Heaven. Sometimes he discovers treasure in Heaven and throws it down to me."
"Huh. I've never seen Heaven treasure before. What about your mother?"
"She's dead, too. No, wait. She's not dead, she just goes to work."
"What's your mother's name?"
"Sydney Franklin."
I've always known that one day Owen, like most kids, would imagine he had other, cooler parents.
I just didn't think he'd do it when he was four...
