Drew's Father's Day gift from me, like last year, was a pair of tickets for him and Rachel to attend a Nationals baseball game. They both got their hats on, sprayed sunscreen all over, and headed out Sunday morning while I labored to write my first story for The Post's Food section.
About 3:20 p.m. I got a call from the Nationals folks. They had Rachel -- she and Drew had gotten separated and she was at Guest Services. They couldn't reach Drew on his cellphone (he had left it at work Friday) and neither I nor Rachel knows his work phone by heart since he doesn't have it for personal use, although he was carrying it Sunday. The Nats woman was very nice and put Rachel on the phone, who sounded very self-possessed. She was fine, she was in an air-conditioned office and she charmed the staff into giving her a Taylor Swift bracelet left over from the concert at Nats Park the previous week.
I started my shift and tried not to worry.
About a half-hour later, Drew called. Turns out that he accompanied Rachel to the bathroom and told her he'd wait outside. There are two entrances/exits, and she left on the side opposite from the one where he was waiting. Realizing she couldn't find him, Rachel remained calm, walked up to a security guard and said, "I think I've lost my dad," and he took her to Guest Services, where she was able to give them Drew's and my phone numbers. Drew and I both told her repeatedly how proud we were of her for not panicking and that she did the exact right thing by finding a security guard to help her find her dad.
I think she's just about ready to travel through Europe. Solo.
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