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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.)

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