Ezoic
The first time it actually made us late was a Tuesday in late May.
Ben and Oliver were in the back seat in school uniform, packed and ready, and Denise’s car was sitting across the end of the driveway at seven-forty, and I couldn’t get out. I knocked on her door for three minutes before she answered. She was still in her dressing gown.
“I’ll move it in a minute,” she said. “I’m in the middle of something.”
“We’re going to be late,” I said.
“It’ll just be a minute.”
It was nine minutes.
Ben got a late mark. He was seven years old and he got a late mark on his register and he came home that afternoon subdued in the specific way of a child who has been embarrassed in front of their class by something they didn’t understand and couldn’t control.
