the next movement

Last night I stayed late at work to finish up a take home text for my Evolution of the Human Diet class. By the time I was done, it was dark and I realized my bike blinkie light is currently dead (cus maybe when I got it I forgot to turn it off for 4 days). I called my dad to see if he could haul me to the train stop since Murray in the dark with no light seemed not so smart. En route to the station he said he could just take me all the way downtown, he just wanted to stop at a gas station to get a drink first. It was 9:00, he wasn't expecting my call, and now the round trip would take about 45 minutes.

But then I remembered my dad is a take-a-drive kind of guy. Trips to the grocery store have always been the long way there and back. The cure for middle child self-pity usually involved a ride with him on an errand somewhere and there was often a gas station treat involved (if I played my cards right and appeared really wounded). So last night, as a 26 year old, it felt so comfortable to sit in the front seat with my head out the window while my dad drove me home. I figured that as much as anything explains why I love a car full of friends and a drive up a canyon or why I'll circle the block a time or two when I'm not quite ready to get somewhere.

My mother shines through in my face more and more, and I hear her words about half the time when I open my mouth. I've never wondered about what has shaken down from her to me because I see evidence everywhere...but it's nice when I get to catch a glimpse of my dad in the mix too.