Once, when I was little (maybe still in elementary school), my mom let me out of the car near the end of our street. We were heading home, and I don’t know how it came up, but I wanted to know how fast I could run. So she had me get out to run next to the car, and she would measure my speed by driving next to me.
I didn’t even have shoes on, as I recall, but we went for it anyway. Perhaps I made it to 17mph. That number stands in my memory as connected to the incident. Whatever the speed, though, it has always stood as a favorite memory of mine. I love the nonsense that my mom and I get up to, and it hasn’t been until recent years that I have begun to notice how much so we really are ridiculous, and how we have been so all my life. I love my mom.