Brakes and Family

Just when you think you're all independent and all growed up, life tends to throw you a curve ball.

For the last several months, years really, my life has been like batting against Barry Zito. Curve ball after curve ball after curve ball.

Yesterday, my brakes failed on my truck on the way to work. On a down hill, in traffic, with expired tags, heading into downtown, on a freaking cold day, after I had broke off the door handle, already late to arrive at work, when there was no around to call for help or assurance.

Fortuneatly, I hit no one and no thing. The snow built-up in the gutter, quick thinking, and a truck that really doesn't like to move anyway, all helped to get the vehicle in control and stopped (along with gears and manual use of the emergency brake).

I babied it back home.

I began to physically check the brakes by removing a few of the wheels. I became informed by the property managment that I could not work on the vehicle on site. "Button it up now." I did.

Distraught, I called my dad for something, anything, maybe even advice.

He gave me peace of mind.

"Can you drive it down?"
"Sure."
"Do it, but be safe."
"It's just brakes, dad."

After a 140 mile drive (still with little brakes) the truck is resting at his place. Safe from appartment life, tow trucks, and impoundment.

It might sound like so little to others, but being able to rest from the worry for a few days is worth gold to me and my breaking ball (baseball reference), swing and a miss life right now.

When all else fails, it's good to know that family is around.

Now I just need to wait and sit back on that coming fastball and drive it over the wall.

Thanks dad.