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Pick up time.

If I am not there wihtin ten minutes of the bell ringing, I get a phone call, politely inquiring when I might be gracing them with my presence.  Day in and day out, my children go in that building, I occasionally follow or am ushered in for a special event or because I forgot to pack their lunches.

There will be a day, one that is rapidly approaching, when they won't be there.  They will have finished all the lessons required of them and they will transition to another school.  If I show up within ten minutes of the bell ringing, it will be politely tolerated and then, if I persist, eyebrows will be raised.

I walk past the wooden gates of the daycare where my son went the year before school.  I walk along the street towards the building on my way home. The late spring warmth permeates everything. The children's voices and laughter escapes through the fence.

I walk on.



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