by Molly Pearson
You may be surprised to find that this is not Peter Pearson speaking. No, I am the humble guest writer, his daughter Molly. Oftentimes my dad’s articles are inspired by interactions from the two of us that end with “man, there’s gotta be a lesson in there somewhere.” This time is no different. But since in this situation, I’m the offender, he entreated me to write it in exchange for exonerating my wrong.
I had just come home from a long day in San Francisco biking around Angel Island. On the traffic-infested drive home, I remembered that I had promised to do some work for my dad and we were going to review it that night. “Shoot!” I thought to myself. “It’s my boyfriend’s last night in town and the last thing I want to do is pore over pages of copy editing. I’ll ask Dad when I get home if we can push it back to another night.”