Bill was a young father of a family which included a gentle wife, a sweet tom-boy daughter and bright-eyed son, Joe, whose hair sprung out in every direction no matter how many times his mother made attempts at smoothing it down. As if on automatic and without interrupting whatever conversation or occupation, anytime Joe would whirl within reach, mom would gently caress his hair. He was much too busy for such trifles, and any attempts in his eyes were vain imaginations needing to be soundly spurned in the rush to the next great adventure that caught his eye. Bill was smart and a talented home remodel and repairman, who excelled in getting many projects started, but none quite finished. His work truck abounded to overflowing with mixtures of hand tools, ladders, ropes, wood, bags of cement, cases of nails and screws, buckets of this or that, pieces and parts from local kitchens and bathroom remodels waiting to be carried to the dump. Such treasures waiting to be found were gold to young Joe’s imaginative worlds of exploration and invention. The arrival of Bill’s truck each evening brought never ending food for his creative mind. The impetuosity of Bill was exceeded only by the enthusiasm for adventure by his young son. Flirting with death was the one constant in both their lives, and never truer than one Sunday evening. It had been a dark and drizzly Sunday. Bill and Joe were stuck indoors, and although the afternoon football had been good, Joe was starved for adventure. Mom, always one to plan ahead, had acquired a movie that held Joe’s attention until time for evening services. On the way to church, through the drizzling rain that had begun to let up, Joe was unusually quiet. With his nose pressed to the door window so he could make shapes out of his breath’s mist on the glass, he peered out deep in thought. Mom savored the short reprieve. Umbrellas of many sizes and colors were held overhead by the church folks, and Bill had a sufficiently large one that would keep the rain off the family members who stayed under it. Joe didn’t. He wanted to see if walking on water could surpass the joy of seeing how far the water would splash. Eventually, all got indoors, and mom set about talking to friends while smoothing Joe’s unruly hair and Bill lay out the umbrella to dry. The evening was spent in singing and preaching. Joe was unusually thoughtful and remarkably settled. It occurred to mom that something might be wrong, and she reached out to touch his forehead. It seemed normal enough. Joe wasn’t one to spend much time being serene, and it wasn’t long until he was showing signs that he had better things to attend then to sit still. The service over, the rain had disappeared and so had Joe. Folks clustered together to socialize and gradually moved toward the foyer. Bill, mom and daughter had settled into friendly banter when suddenly, the foyer doors burst open, and Henry, Joe’s nemesis and local do no wrong snitch, ran in proclaiming loudly that Joe was outside. To any normal family and friends, such an announcement would be met with nonchalance, but one did not need much history with Joe to know there was no good to be found waiting. Without a word the mission of “find and rescue Joe” was set upon by all. Outside, the gathering of the children toward the side of the building, all looking up at the second floor fire escape, indicated Joe’s location, and that he had captured all their attention. Rounding the corner… Mom shrieked, Bill hollered, Joe jumped. Like Mary Poppins holding a large umbrella over her head in the movie Joe watched that afternoon, he descended. The biggest smile on his face mom had ever seen.