Ma, Ma, open the door, he cried out fitfully

Not long ago, I was riding my bike through a quiet stretch of Van Nuys with my friend Francie, her dog Pearl, and my 10-year-old son, Conor. One of them spied a cell phone in the middle of the street, so we doubled back and Francie picked it up.

"What should we do?" she said.

"Call Mom," I said. "Turn it on, scroll through the names, and when you get to 'Mom', hit 'send'."