A couple of days ago we were driving through downtown Provo. Sitting in the back of a truck ahead of us were a guy with tattoos, smoking a cigarette, and a pretty girl with a good haircut, who was smiling at him as they talked to each other.
I said: “Her parents didn’t raise her for that. Or . . . maybe they did raise her to ride in the back of trucks with dangerous-looking guys. Maybe they were too busy doing those kinds of things themselves to care whether she did or not. But that’s not what I hope I’m raising our daughters for.”
Dean said: “Maybe her parents didn’t raise her for that so much that she rebelled.”
A couple of minutes passed, and Dean pointed and said, “His mother didn’t raise him for that.” I looked up to see a Golden Retriever riding in the back of a truck. Dean added, more quietly, “I was about to say ‘His bitch didn’t raise him for that,’ but I remembered the kids are in the car.”