“This generation!” they say. “Disrespectful. Irresponsible. Undisciplined. Unteachable.” These are words I’ve heard them use to describe you. And sometimes I have too. But it’s a mistake. They don’t know.
“Lillian, come on!” Uncle Richard calls, and I run, my arms swinging wildly at my side. In his hand I see something green and flat and large. “Coming!” I call through panting breaths.
I had been walking for some time. About four miles, I supposed. My car, an almost-new contraption, had sputtered to a stop somewhere along this Appalachian trail that was touted to be a