May 2019 . . . .
We’re all a little heavier, or lighter, or grayer, or not gray anymore at all. Puffier around the eyes — sixteen years will do that to you, or a bit stockier, or bent over, or achy, or not so as you’d notice. Can’t run quite as fast, or long, touch those toes. Sixteen years will make you sad that they’ve gone by, and happy that you’re done with them, that you can begin the next, and the next after that.
Sixteen years! That’s a new two-door coupe driven every day to the grocery, to work, to school, regular oil changes and tire-rotations, then sold to a young couple who need a second car because they’ve got a child on the way, and they use it to get to work and the grocery (at night because that was the last diaper in the bag) and then to the park to play in the sandbox, and then to preschool, then they sell it to parents who want a banger for their teenager who’s about to get her license — thanks, mom and dad!
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