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Picture the scene yesterday. We’re in the meticulously restored Minnesota Governor’s reception room. The older nephew is listening intently to a short presentation. The younger one is wandering around at the back of the room looking for some object that he could climb.
Dwight and I stand by, waiting to intervene if necessary.
I’m thinking how incongruous I look in that ornate room: shorts, a khaki tee-shirt, and a 35-liter backpack on my back. Sticking out of the backpack is what looks like an over-sized homemade bottle rocket, with two thin wires connecting the duct-taped propellant chamber to something hidden in the backpack.
I’m surprised I had gotten this far without being challenged by a guard.
It’s time for a selfie.
I tell myself, if a guard challenges me, I will not declare we’re from Ghostbusters.
The younger nephew and I leave the room in search of things that can be climbed. I share my apprehension that I might be apprehended by a guard. “Are there any security cameras?” he asks helpfully. He answers his own question: “there’s one.” He then leaps into the air, a valiant effort to disable the device. Mercifully, his nine-year-old fist falls short.
Earlier that day, the boys built a metal detector. I am thrilled how well they paid attention and asked questions that proved they were connecting mental dots. They soldered electronic components to a circuit board with precision and delicacy.
The metal detector worked first time and performed rather well.
Later, as we walked to reunite the boys with their mom, I found myself singing part of the Ghostbusters theme. “Who you gonna call?” We all joined in.