Tricycle at the train station

The train station near our house was its usual Saturday-afternoon self.

No one was around, and as Suzi and I walked along the platform, there was only one other indication anyone had been there — a yellow tricycle.

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Not being able to keep up

Ducklings gathering on the water — that’s what Suzi compared the kids in the youth sailing program to as they gathered on their little boats for their Portland waterfront excursion.

Some of them seemed to be getting it more than others, while one little boy figured out that if he shook his rudder really fast back and forth, it would propel his boat forward.

That worked until he bumped the boat in front of him. So much for that.

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Advice to my 10-year-old self

If memory serves me right, being 10 was pretty cool.

My birthday was at the end of fourth grade, so I was mostly 10 in fifth grade. School was still more fun than not, and it was a couple years before the great sorting of adolescence, where kids drifted into the Cool and Not Cool tribes that persisted through most of high school. (I was definitely in the latter group.)

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