Time Flies

It was the Sunday before Labor Day, 2006. Michele and I were watching our high school freshman trying to impress the coaches of her new travel team. There was a party somewhere after practice, as I recall. Knowing Clare, she hustled through every drill. Probably like me, she also wondered why Coach took it upon himself at one point to climb up a pole, but that was Harry. He liked Clare, and that was all I could ask for the next two seasons. Don’t ask about what, or who, came next. Thursday, we pick up Leo from kindergarten because Clare will be busy working on the North Shore, part of the never-ending hunt for donations from well-heeled alumni of a certain school. Knowing Leo, he’ll want me to pitch to him when we get home. But I won’t climb any poles.