Through the Fog

I was driving home from Pittsburgh one night, and at the end of the 10-hour drive, it was extremely foggy on I-84 as I left Connecticut and entered Massachusetts.

The fog was so dense, I couldn’t even see the cars around me or guard rails. It was thick, rolling fog you’d see on a San Francisco postcard. I was already road weary, and being alone, I scared myself with thoughts if everything from driving off a cliff to a murderer following me to an alien abduction.

In a slight panic, I called my dad.

“Well, you can be a sitting duck or you can keep going.”

He told me to get off the phone, go slow and think before I make decisions.

Thank God for good dads.

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