It happened on the way to the airport. A 7:00 departure requires a 5:15 AM taxi. Not at my best after a sleepless night, my abrupt replies and long pauses from the back seat should have discouraged the driver, but he was determined. Necessary questions first, asked in a thick Eastern European accent. “What airline?” “What time your flight?” “Where you going?” “You been there before?” Followed by predicable ones, “How long you live here?” “Where you work?” “You watch baseball?” “You like Giants?” Then, out of nowhere, the blindside. “How many kids you have?” A slap, a sting of tears, a choke of bile erupting from my throat. No answer. Only panic. I can’t answer that question. Paul stepped in. In the millisecond of time that I knew he was going to respond, I was still able to wonder what he would say. How would he answer? Only a month ago it was a different answer, an answer I thought would be the same for the rest of my life. “One” he said. “One son”. WWWHHHYYYY? Why would he ask that question in the dark on the way to the airport and send my day spiraling into a gloom that couldn’t be lifted with the most beautiful of vistas in Kauai? No warm breeze, soft ocean water, sip of Mai Tai could undo what he did to me on the way to the airport. But tomorrow is another day. And for the rest of my tomorrows I will need to have an answer ready. An answer when the blindside question comes.