“I care about you too much to be anything more than mildly furious at you,” she had told me, but even then, I could tell she wasn’t furious at all. The two of us kidnapped her grandfather as planned—the first Saturday of Christmas vacation. As usual, Old Man Crawley had no concept of what was in store for him today. “I don’t want to do this!” he yelled as I fought to blindfold him. “I’m calling the police! I’ll skewer you on the end of my cane!” But this was all part of the ritual. By the time we got him out to his chauffeured Lincoln, he had stopped complaining about being kidnapped. Now he merely complained about the conditions. “You forgot my winter coat.” “It’s a warm day.” “I just ate. If I have digestive problems because of this, I won’t be happy.” “When are you ever happy?” I asked. “Your attitude does not bode well for your paycheck.” But I knew he paid me for my attitude as well. It was all part of the ambience of the experience. “This one’s special, Grandpa,”
