When I came in the door last Friday with a story – Scarpetta, to be exact – coming through my iPod earbuds. I greeted Ken and Reid but said that I couldn’t hear them quite yet. Reid talked anyway. As I pulled the earbuds out, I heard Reid say, “Daddy hit a woman on the way home!” In an instant, I think, “Well, that’s a heck of a way to start a weekend.” I asked Ken for details, praying that Reid’s “hitting a woman” meant that he’d hit her car. Ken’s explanation was reassuring. He’d misjudged the space between their cars when changing lanes to get into the right-turn lane. The lady in the other car insisted on going to the collision reporting station, though damage was limited to more rubbing than denting or worse. Ken didn’t know immediately where to go but Reid might have been able to give directions since she’d been there when Amanda backed into Grandma Joyce’s car a while ago. Reid seemed to find the whole thing to be an adventure but Ken was noticeably less impressed with the goings-on. Age gives you such a different perspective, doesn’t it?