TEN THOUSAND YEARS LATER

Some mothers tell their sons they will be someone special someday. Some tell their sons they are the smartest in their class. The most handsome, maybe. Your mother only told you that you were born ten thousand years too late. You remember how she would say it with a crooked smirk on her face, sometimes after a little joke you never understood. Always when your father wasn’t home. “Oh, you wouldn’t get it,” she’d say. “You were born ten thousand years too late to. . .

TEN THOUSAND YEARS LATER

Some mothers tell their sons they will be someone special someday. Some tell their sons they are the smartest in their class. The most handsome, maybe. Your mother only told you that you were born ten thousand years too late. You remember how she would say it with a crooked smirk on her face, sometimes after a little joke you never understood. Always when your father wasn’t home. “Oh, you wouldn’t get it,” she’d say. “You were born ten thousand years too late to. . .