Time is Running Out

Carrie Cariello

Next week is my son Jack’s birthday. He will be eleven.

He stands almost at my nose now, and when we bought new sneakers last week, he picked a bright blue pair of Nikes—from the men’s department.

Double digits plus one.

Five years until he’s eligible for a driver’s license, and six until junior prom.

Seven years until high school graduation.

Ten more years until he can drink, and vote, and live in a college dorm or an apartment.

When I think of him turning eleven, there’s a tight, quiet panic in my chest. I feel like time is running out.

For so long I wanted a crystal ball so I could see into Jack’s future; when he was a pudgy 3-year old, I longed to know what he’d be like in kindergarten.

When he was in second grade, I worried about fourth grade.

And now that he’s in middle…

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