I lost track of my youngest son, Freddy, one summer day when he was about ten. He told me he was going to a friend’s house not far away, so I said OK. What I didn’t know was that he and his friend, Judd Apatau (that’s right, he’s now a Hollywood producer) decided to take the train into New York City to a trading card convention.
When my wife called up from her friend’s house where she’d been invited for lunch, she wanted to know where Freddy was. She didn’t like my answer. I got on my horse and found out the details from the Apatau household in ten seconds flat. When my wife found out, she shouted, “What, two ten-year-old boys in New York City alone? Are you out of your mind?”
I’m a man of action. “I’m going into the city right now. It’s probably in the Biltmore Hotel, or one of the mid-Manhattan hotels, and I’ll find them at the convention.”
I left Syosset at three in the afternoon and got home at nine, empty-handed. The boys had in the meantime returned and my wife’s anger subsided. Sometimes we search for life’s most important things, and come up with nothing.