Many, many moons ago I read a short story titled The Ransom of Red Chief. The story was written by O. Henry. The story is about two kidnappers who kidnap a wealthy boy and then demand a substantial ransom from his father. Unfortunately for the kidnappers they bit off more than they could chew in kidnapping Red Chief (a mischievous red-headed boy who actually revels in the whole experience). Red Chief wreaks havoc on the kidnappers and his father refuses to pay the ransom. Long story short (or short story shorter), the kidnappers eventually pay the father to take Red Chief back.
While at dinner last night with Noah, Kaarin, Berlin, and Barry, we discussed briefly what is involved in surviving the type of six year imprisonment Barry endured. I remarked that I cannot imagine I would ever make it. My son Noah remarked that he thought I had nothing to worry about on that front. He was sure that if I was captured I would soon be sent back to the United States. He hypothesized that even torturous prison guards have their patience limits and I would surely exceed them in short order. In essence, he said I am Red Chief.
Dang, he has me there…I do believe I resemble that remark.
Day one thousand two hundred and twenty of the new forty – obla di obla da