Once when Kelly was about five years old, he got tired of waiting for me at a California Conservation Corpts meeting in Portrero Hill in San Francisco and walked off without telling me. We were meeting at some sort of school with an interior courtyard and playground but that wasn't good enough and he was gone. I called his mother, Dianne, and soon there were many people looking for him, me driving up and down streets all around. No cell phones back then in 78. If he'd gone the wrong direction he could have walked into scary Hunter's Point. But I figured he went down hill and maybe into the Mission District. Occasional big wide streets on the way. After about thirty minutes I stopped the car and said to myself, "He's my son. I should drive straight to him." And I did. Went right to the corner at Market and Guerrero and there he was with a nice man holding his hand helping him cross the street with the light. I jumped out of the car, thanked the man, and I don't know what I said to Kelly, but I wasn't angry, just super relieved. He was two blocks from the Zen Center and had gone about three and a half miles. Told me he waited for adults at intersections. Wow.
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