WE WERE FACING A 90-minute late-afternoon drive along a winding mountain road with our carsick-prone ten-year-old daughter, Rachel. Wanting things to go smoothly, my wife, Susan, and I took the Florence Nightingale route. “Here’s something, honey,” I said from the driver’s seat. It was industrial-grade Dramamine to help her not turn green.
Within minutes, though, my exhaustion changed our plans. If you are a parent, you’ve been there: Four days of family car camping through California lava country had fried my wires. I decided to pull into the next campsite, and I sent Rachel and her younger brother, Neil, to play down by the stream.
Grimly setting up, I realized I wasn’t hearing the kids, so I went to look. Rachel stood like a crumpling statue a few boulders north…
