if I were an Asian mother walking down the street

here, here look at my son.
he is larger than me.  much.  larger than my husband too.  larger than either of us.
 
I hold my husband’s hand as we walk to market down the late morning street, my arm within my son’s arm.
 
sometimes my son steps out ahead, as when we cross the street, but then soon he is back at my side.
 
I walk down the street in between my husband and my son, hand in hand, arm in arm.  here’s my son.  my gratitude.

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