“Would you get me a gallon of milk?”

On her way out to go babysitting, my daughter asked me to pick up a gallon of milk.

I’ve done it a million times over the last 18 years. So I hop in the car, head over to Publix, chat with a neighbor for a few minutes, then over to the milk aisle.

Standing in line, I think of everything we’ve got to do in the next few days. Pack the truck, drive up to Gainesville, unload, tote everything up the stairs and into the dorm room. And I realize I am holding in my hands the very last gallon of milk I will run to the store and grab for my kid. I’m pretty certain the check out lady was somewhat shocked by the grown man tearing up over a gallon of skim milk.