Whatever I did in a past life, it must have been bad. Really bad. For 9 months a year, I must begin every workday morning enduring the carpool line at the middle school for Collegiate. This is NASCAR pit stop gone bad. Instead of being surrounded by highly skilled drivers who can stop and place their vehicle on a dime, I am cast into a sea of SUVs piloted by Moms chattering on cell phones.

     This ordeal would not be so bad if the other parents used the entire circle in front of the middle school and Hershey Center. Unfortunately, they don’t and what happens is 3 lines of traffic attempt to merge into 1/2 of the circle. Pure disaster. Of course, Muffy, Buffy and Jodie couldn’t possibly be expected to walk an additional 50 yards to school.

     Not only is this a stressful time for me, it is particularly stressful for my thirteen year old daughter who knows 50 year old plus father will say whatever is on his mind. Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead. Fortunately, I only have 2 more years of this sentence and only 3 until she can drive herself to school. Now that’s a truly scary propostion.