I see him everyday at drop off. A dad, most likely a house-husband, with three young children. He always says “Good morning,” to me with an expectant catch at the end of that everyday word, as if hoping to engage me for just a little while longer. But I don’t; I can’t. I’m rushing, you see. I have my two children to hustle in–with little hands barely containing the contents of lunches, coats and books…and the urgency of the ever-present weight of the dreaded tardy slip on our minds. We walk quickly to the beat of “Hur-ry, hur-ry” tapping with each fast, marching step. Continue Reading...