The routine is very simple, but that doesn’t stop it from being awesome each and every time.

When pulling up to my house after work each evening, I take my time backing in the driveway. My eyes stay peeled, checking the front door and the backyard.

The radio is usually turned up pretty loud so my wife and two children can hear me in the driveway.

That’s when the fun starts.

When my daughter — 5-year-old Mallory — hears me coming, she comes running.

We then operate in tandem. I stop the truck, and she comes around the front passenger door, which is unlocked.

She hops in the front seat, while I move my empty lunch container and computer bag (yes, I have a nerded-out, Indiana Jones-style computer satchel) to the back seat.

Mallory then sits back in the front passenger seat, rolls the window all the way down and smiles like she is enjoying the greatest possible drive imaginable.

It takes about 15 seconds for me to finish backing my truck up the driveway into its parking spot.

For obvious reasons, that 15-second roll is my favorite part of the daily commute.

Mallory, who is all of 38-inches tall and 36 pounds, seems to be light years away from officially leaving her car seat, which is fastened to the backseat of whatever car she is traveling in. Therefore, she treats the opportunity to ride in the front seat likes it’s a special treat.

The look on her face is pure joy, and the feeling it gives me each time is something only a parent could understand.

There is nothing even remotely cool enough about me to make riding next to me in reverse for 15 seconds noteworthy, but Mallory still loves it anyway.

The cool thing about our little routine is how randomly it all began.

She happened to be playing in the front yard one day when I got home, flashed me the biggest smile and ran to get in the truck with me. Ever since then, if she notices I’m pulling up, then she knows she is getting in the truck with me.

The sap I am, I’ve begun to turn the music up louder and pull in slower each day, hoping Mallory will catch wind of my arrival and come running.

That was the case Monday when I drove home. Fresh off a fairly challenging day, I was so looking forward to the last 15 seconds of my trek home.

I had worked a little later at the office that day, and I was sure Mallory’s sweet face would brighten up my grumpy mood.

Well, I turned up the music and pulled in slow Monday, but there was no Mallory.

Maybe, just maybe, I had built these little encounters up too much in my head, valuing them a lot more than my daughter.

As I walked in the house, my wife greeted me with a needed dose of reality.

“She waited outside for 30 minutes,” she said.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“It got too hot for her to stay out there any longer,” my wife informed me.

Yes, I made the mistake of not calling home and letting the people who care about me know that I was running late.

In doing so, my daughter waited in the summer’s afternoon heat for a 15-second ride that was too late in coming. It taught me an important lesson.

When someone is expecting to catch an important ride, call when you know you’re going to be late.

I won’t be making that mistake again. Not when I have the coolest commute conclusion waiting for me each day.

 

Stephen Hemelt is publisher and editor of L’OBSERVATEUR. He can be reached at 985-652-9545 or stephen.hemelt@lobservateur.com.