on the drive to work, I pass my elementary school and the old oak tree. I watch as the little kids walk out excitedly to their parents. I watch as the parents huddle together. I see myself running, a grade-school wobble, over to my mom. I see my mother. I am the ground as she kneels down to give me a hug. I start crying. the emotional, damning realization of the passage of time to the fullest extent. I want to watch that memory of myself over and over, I want to hold her. I hope she’s proud of me