When our youngest is driving back to school after Spring break, there’s a sound I wait for.
I think through the trip, the time of day, the imagined traffic through Chicago and try to imagine what time the call should come.
It’s easy to track with him; I’ve made the trip several times myself.
I pray for safety. For a car that runs well. For protection from idiots and road-rage.
When the phone rings, usually a little before I think it might, caller ID tells me this is my call – and it’s good news.
” Hey there!”
“Hey Dad. I made it.”
“Awesome! Any trouble?”
“Not a stitch.”
“Excellent – you and Meagan off to IHOP now?”
“Yep” (They love IHOP’s cinnamon stackers)
“Tell her ‘Hi'”
“Will do… Love ya’ Dad”
I’m smiling. So is he. I could hear it in his voice. I bet Meagan’s smiling too; they’ve been apart this week.
(You’d better buy, Son.)