In this memory, I am eight years old. Every morning, after breakfast, I grab my schoolbag and head over to the front door in a sluggish movement. My mother follows me in a quick step.
“Did you get your lunch cutlery?” she asks as I open the door. “Did you get your activity clothes?”
“Yes, I did,” I reply automatically as I step out of the door.
Once I’m on the street, I turn to my mother. “OK, I’m going now.”
“Have a nice day!” smiles my mother as she also stands on the street.
As I start walking, from time to time, I stop and look back to see my mother standing in front of our house. I wave at her, and she waves me back. We continue doing that until I come to the end of our block. When I turn around for one last time, I see my mother waving with both her hands.
I then make a turn, away from home, and I start thinking about my new day at school.