In 25 years—gracefully and clumsily aged, gray and content—I imagine Adrianna, my 5-year-old, is a fashion designer acclaimed on Paris runway for her outlandish use of glitter and feathers. Sasha, 3, will have just solved a suspension-bridge problem that has stumped engineers for centuries. And I’ll call them to get together for lunch, and they’ll say, ‘I’m sorry, who’s calling?’
Written shortly before graduation for a ‘Where do you see yourself in 25 years?’ feature for the high school newspaper.
Doing the math now, it looks like Sasha’s gonna be my late-in-life baby. And apparently, at 18, I had abandonment issues that’ll still be goin’ strong at 43. Wonderful.
This has been another session of Internet therapy.