I heard yowling in the parking lot. A boy, maybe five, his mother held his hand. He tugged and wailed all the way to their car. There, his mother released his hand. He stood whimpering as she set down her bags, rooted in her purse for the key, unlocked and opened the car door. She motioned patiently for him to get in but he raised his arms that she might take him up and hold him. This she did. I watched the boy and his mother, remembering times when I was weary and raised my arms to be lifted up.