Not long ago, I was reading about a pastor who had made a bunch of money from a book and bought himself a new red Lexus. Me . . . I've never made money from a book, and I certainly don't have a new red Lexus. I drive a 1991 Caprice wagon, 166,000 miles, with no hint of heat or air. This is one of the four crap cars sitting in my driveway. She's a beautiful car, ain't she?
But I certainly had no idea how the rest of the family felt about old dad driving around in this piece of junk until Thursday morning, when I happened to drive past my daughter while she was at work. I drove past the community center as she was leading a group of children on a walk.
I rolled down the window (no . . . wait . . . the window is always down, I don't have air) and yelled, "HI, CHELSEY!" She looked up, noticed her dad and what he was driving, then hung her head in disgust. Kind of like Peter standing outside the courtyard denying Jesus. Never knew me. Didn't wanna know me.
Okay. But a year from now, she's going to be driving this long gray piece of crap in Muncie. Welcome to my life, sweetheart.
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