Whether you’re seven or seventy, there are secrets you simply don’t tell. My brother and I, free range boys who bored easily, exercised the “Don’t Tell Mom” rule well into high school. Our pact survived a multitude of sins, including underage joy-riding. Unless our parents checked the car odometer or fuel gauge, they never knew. Dad was more forgiving. We’d sometimes confess to him, but never to Mom. I carried this trait into parenthood.
I had been on the road nearly two weeks, camping across Utah en route to Colorado with Maggie, then 7, and Kate, 10. We bonded over miles of open desert and lonely highways. Without Hun, my wife, I had carte blanche to break unwritten rules concerning diet, curfew and spending. What Hun doesn’t find out, won’t hurt her. (more…)