After I left home, my parents and three youngest siblings moved to Texas. It was right before my mission and I remember taking a road trip down there with my Dad. It was just me and him and I have fond memories of that time we spent together because a) he was a really great dad and b) I was finally old enough to not behave like a snot.
I remember specifically that he and I stopped over in Albuquerque and he was taking a nap in the hotel room. I decided I would sit outside and do some sketching. As I was sitting outside the door, an occasional truck driver would walk by and strike up a conversation. He would look at the sketch and comment and we would chat for a few minutes and then he would be on his way. It all seemed very harmless to me. Then Dad woke up and came outside in mid-conversation with one of these truck drivers and after he left, I'll never forget the look on his face as he talked to me about all of the horrible things that could have happened to me. At the time, I felt he was overreacting and had very little faith in my ability to take care of myself. I felt so grown up and had no idea of the unthinkable things that happen to people.
Now I am raising my own children and I find myself often in the situation of feeling the terror of what might happen to them. I realize how much my Dad loved me and I understand how frightening it is to see your children venturing out into this world. It's scary.
And mine are just hiding in the clothes racks at Walmart.
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