It’s the late ’80s. I’m 6 years old, waiting outside of my elementary school for my mom to pick me up. She is running very late, and it’s almost time for school to close.
The grownups, horrified by my mom’s transgression, try to comfort me with all-too-cheery, reassuring words: “I’m sure she’ll be here at any moment, sweetie.
I am sure she didn’t forget you!”Meanwhile, I knew the truth — that my mom had absolutely forgotten about me and that she was not on her way to pick me up from school.Read more on additudemag.com