None of this matters. Not Zillow, Refin, or declining home prices. Not dual agency, property inspections, termite fumigation or even our little Blog. What matters is that my 16-year old daughter is at home asleep and that she wants to be a journalist.
Any phone call from your child which begins with the words “I’m okay” is enough to send shock waves through your system. You see, on the way home from school yesterday, she was broadsided. T-boned, as Steve put it. The other driver ran a red light. One 911 call, four air bags, two flatbed tow trucks and countless tears later, both drivers walked away. The physical scrapes and bruises will heal, if not in time for the homecoming dance, then shortly thereafter. The emotional scars, both hers and mine, will take a little longer.
My daughter, who fashions herself the next Anderson Cooper, will now have that chance. She wants to be a journalist, and this morning, at least, that is all that matters.