Something I found around the house this weekend: my son’s first library card. It’s four or five years old now, it’s expired, but I still remember how proud I was when he got it. It’s hard to say why . . . I knew he could read a little bit, write his name — not very well, but still . . .
I think at the time I was feeling that, for better or worse, he wasn’t a baby anymore, and here was the proof . . .