My bottom was already numb, and my skinny shoulder blades ached against the hard wooden pew where weekly as a child I sat obediently a few rows back on the left-hand side of the church with my family. Mostly I spent a lot of time staring at the stack of big black hymn numbers . . .
I was watching our seven-year-old son who had been playing a long time, rolling Matchbox cars across “roads” in the den rug’s intricate patterns and blowing car noises through his lips. When I said . .
Summer wanes, and the start of the academic year is around the corner at my university. As a child, I wished the summer months away, eager to return to school. Buying notebooks and new tennis shoes . . .
