I’d hear my son’s baby squirrel voice from the back seat of the Caravan.
“Mommy! Where’s Daddy?”
We’d have just passed a squashed squirrel on the road – most likely Groton Road on the way to — to anything.
“It’s okay, honey,” he’d reply in his mommy squirrel voice.
My boys had a huge repertoire of voices. They’d invent characters and mimic others: Bush one, Spock, Jack Nicholson, and oh my goodness, a favorite teacher during a speech at graduation.
“It’s okay. Daddy had to go somewhere. He’s all right.”
I guess that’s why when I read the featured cartoon this morning my stomach lurched, I felt the blood drain from my face, and my entire day has been colored by the sorrow and pain of those stupid water toys.