In 1999, I moved with my mom—a French immigrant and graduate student—to Clarion, a rural town in western Pennsylvania. I was 12. She was a one-year adjunct. We moved into a yellow prefabricated apartment building. There was a Wendy& #39;s in our backyard. It was a modest box, our box.

I spent nights walking around Wal-Mart off of I-80, gazing at fish. Were the fish dead yet? My mom was French, so we bought groceries each night. The mall had a JCPenney at one end, a K-Mart at the other. There was a forest with virgin oak trees accented by the Clarion River.

Today, my mom is moving away from Clarion. She eventually got a full-time job at the university there, though the French program she taught in got cut as part of the cutting that& #39;s happened to language programs over time. My mom almost got retrenched. Are universities dead yet?

These are bittersweet weeks. I listen to Lucy Dacus& #39;s "My Mother and I" and cry. Recently I dreamt I was running through Clarion. "I love it here," I said to no one as I ran, a sentiment that is neither true nor false. I too am now an adjunct. It is almost Mother& #39;s Day.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9Q_weNUt4m8">https://www.youtube.com/watch...