As a child, not realizing that seeing 10 seconds into the future during moments of panic wasn’t the norm, Julia couldn't forgive her father for his own murder.

Now as she neared home, a prickle of unease, unfamiliar creaks and voices coming from inside. A vision - shouts, hands, a struggle.

"Dana, could you go whisper to Ms. Perez (the adored math teacher) that I could use a hug?" (She’s a mom friend who "gets it.") It was a rough week - back and forth to the hospital. Room 310’s door burst open - twelve teenagers with wide smiles, who had overheard, enveloped me. Openly, and true to character, I cried. My students teach me, every day, in all the ways that truly matter.

How long has this been going on? Thoughts of being left behind, missing out and a sudden suspicion of adults hit me over the head in my eighth year.
I had just opened that new magnetic pink floral case and placed gold wire rimmed prescription oval eyeglasses lightly on my nose.
Everything was suddenly sharper. Brighter. Crisper. I confidently read the kitchen clock for the first time.

I could see it all.

Enlightenment.