Speed Runner

Once, when I was little (maybe still in elementary school), my mom let me out of the car near the end of our street.  We were heading home, and I don’t know how it came up, but I wanted to know how fast I could run.  So she had me get out to run next to the car, and she would measure my speed by driving next to me.

I didn’t even have shoes on, as I recall, but we went for it anyway.  Perhaps I made it to 17mph.  That number stands in my memory as connected to the incident.  Whatever the speed, though, it has always stood as a favorite memory of mine.  I love the nonsense that my mom and I get up to, and it hasn’t been until recent years that I have begun to notice how much so we really are ridiculous, and how we have been so all my life.  I love my mom.
Post-a-day 2017

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