Come On, Now, Dad

My mother and I decided that we would go out to dinner last night because it was my dad's birthday--not that we don't eat out other times, especially off-season when you can just walk in to places and have no wait and your choice of tables--but we made a point of it. His 90th birthday and all. Out to dinner.

Here's a few things you need to know about my dad: he got more green lights when driving than the law of averages would suggest was possible, and he could get a parking space anywhere. Seriously, drive in to Boston on a Saturday afternoon, go around the corner to where he was headed, and oh look, there's someone pulling out of that spot. It was uncanny, and since he died, whenever I get a good spot, I tend to say, 'Thanks, dad' out loud (generally followed by 'How about a winning lottery ticket next time?').

So we ran a few errands before dinner, and yeah, we got a spot right near the door of one place, in the shade, yet, which is highly prized in the summer. So we were already laughing about that as we headed to the restaurant. It was about 5 miles away, straight down a busy road with many traffic lights.

Every single one was green.

Every one! And trust me, this is not a road with synchronization such that if you hit one, you hit them all. This never happens.

Thanks, Dad.

How about a winning lottery ticket next time?

(It would be hilarious if we won a bunch on the lottery and never got another green light, wouldn't it? I'd take that trade!)