I was heading down the interstate the other day, rocking it out the hardcore way I usually do, listening to a podcast.
Then, right in front of me, I saw a flash of red. I saw an SUV careening off to the left. I have driven on plenty of interstates, and I have found that we generally like to keep going in the same direction (forward), and that hard lefts are generally discouraged.
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As anyone who reads this column knows, I am exceptionally political and use this platform to further my political agenda at any time.
Ha! I kid. I would no sooner wade into politics here than I would religion, because I’ve visited the internet and I’ve seen how that goes.
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I am a survivor.
Six hours in a car. Ten hours at an amusement park. Four teenage girls.
Survive.
OK, so it wasn’t that bad. It was my daughter’s 16 birthday, and she wanted to go and ride roller coasters with some friends. So I piled the four of them in a car and set off toward our destination, three hours away, which means I spent the next three hours hearing songs from “Hamilton” being sung, occasionally breaking for a quick trip to “School of Rock” songs.
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My son was staying with a friend a couple of hours away recently. After his first night there, I received a call from, around 10 in the morning. Just checking in, I figured.
“How’s it going?” I said.
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