Katie finishes working at her college's library, drives my car back over to the seminary building where I work to pick me up, and I hop in the driver's seat. The next leg of the trip is west on 96 to 196, south through downtown on 131, and off at 36th Street, where we pick up our next passenger, Jonathan, who has just finished two hours of basketball practice. We have miles to go before we sleep--or at least I thought we did.
I drive around the corner to the grocery store to pick up a couple of things that we need for dinner, and both kids stay in the car. I hurry through the store, gather fresh vegetables, and stand in the less-than-ten items line for a few minutes. I dash back out to the car, where both exhausted children (19 and 17, mind you) are leaning against the windows in the front and back seats with their eyes shut. Neither of them even looks up as I get in the car and back out of the parking spot.They've had a hard day.
As I drive through the parking lot I comment, "A kidnapper could be driving the two of you away, and you wouldn't even know it. You'd be ten miles from here, and there'd be nothing you could do."
Summoning all of the strength left in his weary 17-year-old body, Jonathan speaks up from the back seat: "I'd beat him up. Katie has her license--she could drive away. We'd be fine."
And I feel much better now knowing there's a strategy in place.
