I remember growing up, one time my Dad had picked up a hitch hiker. I have the worst memory ever, but for some reason this memory surfaces every so often when I see someone hitch hiking. The man my Dad picked up had this blue thing in the back of his pocket that looked, to me, as a handle to a knife. I recall being slightly scared but I also knew that my Dad had everything under control, should something bad happen. As a child I always remember my Dad being that person who everyone seemed to like, but piss him off or mess with him then all heck is breaking loose. I felt safe. No harm was done, the hitch hiker made it wherever and we made it home …