On a cool, clear day
in early November,
my dad and I parked our car next to a parking meter
and took the right path into a classroom
on the campus of the University of Illinois.
When the lecture was over,
we made our way back into the quad
and debated which path led back to our car.
Dad said left,
I said right.
We went left.
We wandered past classrooms, dorms, and sushi restaurants,
admiring the flags hanging from the dorm room rooftops.
We made it halfway across campus before we stopped.
Dad let me lead us back to the quad.
Back past hanging flags.
Past sushi restaurants, dorms, and classrooms.
Back to the quad,
where we took the right path,
and our car came back into view.
But in the time it took to prove him wrong,
the parking meter had expired.
Apr 24
Apr 24, 2026 at 11:17 AM UTC
On a cool, clear day
in early November,
my dad and I parked our car next to a parking meter
and took the right path into a classroom
on the campus of the University of Illinois.
When the lecture was over,
we made our way back into the quad
and debated which path led back to our car.
Dad said left,
I said right.
We went left.
We wandered past classrooms, dorms, and sushi restaurants,
admiring the flags hanging from the dorm room rooftops.
We made it halfway across campus before we stopped.
Dad let me lead us back to the quad.
Back past hanging flags.
Past sushi restaurants, dorms, and classrooms.
Back to the quad,
where we took the right path,
and our car came back into view.
But in the time it took to prove him wrong,
the parking meter had expired.
For my dad.