Monday and Wednesday I had parent duty, big-time, riding with Sam as he gets accustomed to driving a rather complicated route between home and his internship at nonPareil Institute in Plano.

Very, very cool place, by the way, that nonPareil.

The last leg of the journey is very familiar. it’s the same route as to church. So Wednesday, I just settled back and enjoyed a little nap.

As a widow, I rarely get driven much. Runner Susan knows this. I gush about it every time she and I go somewhere and she drives me.

We were waiting at the light at the last big intersection heading home when I was awakened by the sound of squealing tires and a crash. I could see, somewhat, past the monster Dodge Ram in front of us that there had been a disagreement about the changing light on the cross traffic. The little SUV wanted to stop, but the speeding pickup behind him didn’t. My eyes opened just in time to see the pickup driver open his door and get out, and survey the shards and leaking fluids that used to be the front of his truck.

Sam was nonplussed. His first comment?

“We’d better get out of here before the police get here and we’re trapped.”