Once upon a time, but not very long ago, my daughter was too little to walk to school,

Once upon a time, but not very long ago, my daughter was too little to walk to school,so we rode the city bus.

Each morning, I tugged her along the sidewalk to the bus stop.

Each morning, I tugged her along the sidewalk to the bus stop.Each morning, I gazed impatiently down Third Avenue,

while she stared in ecstatic wonder at the treasures in the drugstore window.

I didn’t particularly mind riding the bus, but I viewed a day off as a great treat.

I didn’t particularly mind riding the bus, but I viewed a day off as a great treat.

I’d think with a ping of relief, “Phew, no bus ride today.”

Until one morning,

“Look, Mommy, look! A dog!” she exclaimed as, she pointed out the window at an ordinary dog on a leash.

Then suddenly it hit me.

Then suddenly it hit me.

This bus ride was it.

This was parenthood, this was the childhood of my darling girl, this was life itself.

One day—and that day probably wasn’t too far away—we’d no longer be riding the bus together.

One day—and that day probably wasn’t too far away—we’d no longer be riding the bus together.

And I was frittering this time away.

From then on, every morning, I thought, “Thank goodness, another day to ride the bus.”

Now my little girl is bigger, and we walk the ten blocks to school. She still holds my hand, but I know this too will probably end soon.

“Do you remember when we used to ride the bus to school?” I asked her the other day.

“I remember,” she said. “I loved that bus ride.”

“So did I,” I answered.

The days are long,

The days are long, but the years are short.