My sister visited this week to help with my dad. Early one morning, she hopped in the car with me to run the carpool…bribed by the promise of a very good cup of coffee afterwards.

My sophomore-in-high-school son sat in the back, looking mournful (he was facing a long day of final exams). “Drop me off in the senior parking lot,” he instructed me in a gravelly voice.

Something in the way he said it made my sister smile. “Onward, James!” Wendy said in a cut-glass British accent. “To the senior parking lot!” She waved a hand as if shooing the butler (which, come to think of it, happened to be me), adding, “And make haste!”

My son, not in a good mood to start with anyway, rolled his eyes as my sister and I burst into laughter.

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