Short entries are supposed to be best, so I’ll keep this one to the point. This is a great Caroline tale. And today is the right day to retell it, for sure.
Scott is Christian. I’m agnostic. When we lived in Lexington, we went to Scott’s Presbyterian church and sent Caroline to preschool in a synagogue. Right across the hall from Caroline’s room, the temple held its bar/bah mitzavah classes, and there was overlap between the beginning of big-kid class and little-kid-pickup time. The big kids discussed important religious questions at length.
Keep this in mind.
The nursery at Scott’s church understood that although Caroline didn’t have a formal autism diagnosis at that point, there were social delays that made it difficult to move her up to the appropriate preschool Sunday School class.… Read the rest
“Hot pretzel and a package of candy,” says the woman in pink. She has a glazed look, like she’s been standing in line for a thousand years.
She gives me a credit card, and I go for the pretzel. We’re shorthanded, so I’m my own runner.
“Get me one,” Brady calls from his register.
“The syrup’s out in the diet cola,” Kelly shouts.
Their voices blend together with the clanging, whirring, and popping that is a ballpark concession stand. The PTA gets funds, Minor League baseball gets good neighbor points, and I get a headache. I can’t hear the score over the cacophony.… Read the rest