The girl I nanny for is a remarkable child. Her mother is a dancer, her father, a chemist. They work hard and have little time for her but I keep her schedule full. Everyday before lunch, we go to the park.
Lately a boy has been asking for kisses. He is smitten.
“Tomorrow,” she insists.
The women nearby--mothers and their help-- raise their brows and cast glances.
“Do you know what ‘tomorrow’ means?” one inquires.
She nods solemnly, thinking of promises broken by a mother who rehearses all day, and a father who studies into the night.
“It means never.”
Lately a boy has been asking for kisses. He is smitten.
“Tomorrow,” she insists.
The women nearby--mothers and their help-- raise their brows and cast glances.
“Do you know what ‘tomorrow’ means?” one inquires.
She nods solemnly, thinking of promises broken by a mother who rehearses all day, and a father who studies into the night.
“It means never.”
