In the third grade, my Dad and I drove home from a birthday party for one of his fellow police officers. The festive and upbeat night took a turn for the worst when we reached the intersection of Pacific Coast Highway and Robert Road in Redondo beach; we had unexpectedly struck the back fender of a truck and spun out into the center of the intersection. As I sat in disbelief, my Dad spoke to the other driver and they exchanged information. He drove home with a sullen look that was new to me, we didn't say a word. At home, I sobbed as I overheard my Dad stress to my Mom that he would lose his beloved job. That night I prayed for the first and only time, pleading to some higher power for aid. I wistfully awoke to news reports labeling him a
