June 4, 2025: The Invisible Line

One of my dad fails.

When Luke turned thirteen, we celebrated with a road trip to an Orioles game. I snagged a room near the stadium, ready for the perfect father-son adventure.

The baseball contest delivered the fun — hot dogs, peanuts, the works. But the real action started afterward.

Baltimore simmered with tension at the time. Protests filled the headlines and unrest flared over police violence and injustice. At night, the city became a risky place.

But I didn’t think about that. With balmy temps and a 1-mile stroll to the hotel, what could go wrong?

That was my mistake.

As the large gathering spilled out of Camden Yards, everything seemed fine. For about five minutes.

Then the crowds thinned. The noise faded. And we turned onto a stretch of street that pulsed with flashing lights and pounding bass. Bar territory.

Brawls and broken glass. People shouting and stumbling on the road. And here’s me, dad of the year, leading my barely teenage son through an episode of Cops.

Somehow, we made it back unharmed, with a few choice phrases shouted at us along the way. My poor decision could have been disastrous.

Some places, sometimes, just aren’t worth the shortcut.

Fast-forward to today. Cali, our golden retriever — usually a model citizen — spotted two fellow goldens parading past our property with their owner. And something inside her snapped.

In a flash, she jumped down the steps, sprinted across the yard, and bolted through the invisible fence. Though not a biter, she’s a barker, and our fluffy girl followed them halfway down the block.

After chasing after her, I offered apologies to the walker. Now we’ve resumed refresher doggie training, a gentle reminder that boundaries exist for a reason.

Lesson: Sometimes instinct screams Go! but wisdom whispers Stay.

Or at the very least, call an Uber.