My son turned 18 this week and graduates from high school on Saturday. I ought to be overjoyed, hoisting strong drink, cheering the accomplishment, buying rounds for the house as I brag on my kid.
Instead I’ve pushed through the double doors of nostalgia, where I’m on a first-name basis with the maître d.
There I think of the ants.
It is my favorite story, the one I tell perfect strangers about my son, Holden. The one that tells you everything you need to know about him.Read More