One of my favourite chores after work is picking up Charlie from Baby Jail. He's got a good thing going there. He and Ms. Tina, his teacher, have a great relationship and clearly adore one another and he's actually learning quite a bit ("I know my colours, Daddy!"). On a typical day, I hop the wall taking the short cut to the wooden fence where expectant children cluster around the check out teacher searching the new arrivals for their Daddy. They also serve as look outs. They've learned which grown up goes with which child and invariably when they see me coming one or more of them will shout "Charlie's Daddy!" and an eager scout will disappear into the clot of kids and seek out my little guy. Then from the depths of the playground a sweaty little guy in a hat will come scampering up to me with calls of "Daddy! Daddy!" and run and give me a perfunctory hug. After that, he'll either show me some rock/puddle/bug he'd been inspecting before I showed up and then drag me to go get his bag en route to the car. On Fridays the bags are upstairs, and the above is me coming back down to take him to the car. That's my boy!
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