My son kept track of the days. He marked them off, one by one, on a paper calendar that he stuck to his bedroom wall with hockey tape. I remember him counting down the days to his April birthday. We watched Trolls World Tour that day and ate ice cream cake. And to the last day of school. What a surreal way to end the school year. And to the week we moved house. All the brown boxes, so much excitement, and so many tears. He had a Sharpie taped to the wall. And alongside the calendar were ticket stubs from a hockey game he went to see before sports got cancelled, as well as an old photograph of Jason and I, and our Schnauzer, Cecil. Antimo talks about Cecil all the time, even though there’s no way he could remember him. When we moved back to Robert Street, he stopped counting the days. He kept the calendar though, and still has it taped to the pin board above his new desk. “Best Year Ever,” is what he’s written across the top. It’s too soon to tell how the last six months will land with children. My hope is that ours don’t waste their time with the bad, and that they live with the good. I suppose that is what every parent hopes for.
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