those seven minutes I would imagine home, a place where two cars, shiny and new were parked side by side. The carport smoothly paved and surrounded with a white fence that was freshly painted. Our full breed German shepherd would wait for us along with the porch light.
My father would be in his rocking chair that rocked gently up against our dog’s bottom, and my father’s hand would cradle a tall glass of lemonade. A kiss would be the standard way he’s greet my mother, and of course he would pick me up and follow that with a forehead peck. When the seven minute drive came to an end, then so would my fantasy.