“Take it slow,” my father said as I pulled out of the driveway.
He knew I liked jackrabbit starts. I was 16. Dad was determined to make me a safe driver, and I passed my driving test with flying colors. I grew up and got a job where I had to drive a lot. Dad had died by then, but I heard his voice whenever I felt that urge to floor it.
Like the time in Amsterdam. I was driving my rental car, stopped at an intersection when the light turned green. I heard Dad say, “Don’t move!” The command froze my foot. A second later, a car shot past, running the light.
Dad was still watching over me, still determined to keep me safe. Only now he had angels to help him.
