On the night my son was born, I was a couple hundred miles away, hurtling north on the New Jersey turnpike trying to get home in time. I had my mother next to me, but my wife was alone in Morristown, NJ, where we lived. She wasn’t due for another three weeks, and I had been in my hometown of Columbia, Md, for a dental appointment.
Aren’t there dentists in New Jersey? I’m sure there are, and probably even good ones. But for most of my life, since I was a very young child, I’ve had the same dentist: my father. He’s actually a very good dentist, and besides our familial relationship, if I were any normal patient I’d probably want to keep him even after I moved away.