
We're all packed up in the truckster, including the Skybox riding high on top. The goal is to move child #3 to school for his senior year of college. With our kids being 4 years apart, this makes the twelfth straight year we've made a trip similar to this. It's a bittersweet moment.
For the first half of the trip I get the opportunity to impart some last bits of wisdom. Our youngest is bright, active, and a joy to be around but is sometimes lacking in the planning department. As we hit the road we know many items were left behind. The words of wisdom center on judgement and foresight and the advantages of thinking two steps ahead through multiple scenarios. Solid Dad stuff. A great lesson, albeit an abstract one.
We get to the hotel, check in, and drive the car around to the garage. As I take the ticket I see the bright yellow bar hanging down at the entrance. 7'4" clearance, it says. I have no idea how high my truck sits with this fancy high impact plastic box on top, but it's late, we've been driving for six hours, and I just nick the bottom of the warning bar as we drive through. It's close to 7'4".
We need to get to level F for the bridge to the hotel, and on the way up about every 3rd concrete support we drive under scrapes just a bit of high-impact ballistic grade plastic off the top of the box. Zzrrtt. When we stop I get out and check the damage. Superficial at the most. We should be good.
The next morning we are to meet child two and his fiance for breakfast. I'm careful on the way down the ramp, swinging wide on the turns, and making very little scraping contact. When I get to the exit, there is a box just outside the garage that looks a little lower than what we've been driving through. Just past the sign is another hotel where I notice around 13 people gathered on the circular entry, waiting for a ride or something. It may be a trick of the mind, but I think one of them is raising a hand to me, like I know them.
The sign is low. I try to avoid it by slowly exiting sideways, and the roof box makes a terrible, terrible noise. It's bad enough that everyone at the other hotel turns, points, and is wincing as I drive by. It's like the garage took a can-opener to my high-impact ballistic plastic box and zippered it open. So embarrassing.
They say there is no better teacher than experience. The garage episode demonstrates of lack of foresight, not thinking ahead, and bad judgement. A concrete example, if you will.
Lesson delivered.
It's what I do.
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