April 5, 2017

Son turned 16 this week.

Which compels me to write the past 5,843 days a mother*ucker of a speeding ticket.

Here is where I pump the breaks.

To take the measure of the miles traveled. To mark the road ahead. To search for signs along the way. And to send the occasional post card to commemorate the moving moments that otherwise disappear in a blur in the rear view.

My hunch is that most of us would pull time over, if we could, for not obeying the posted speed limit. Maybe we can slow this thing down together.

Though I will apologize in advance for occasionally asking you for directions.

— Pete