My father’s old almanacs taught me this: the page that predicts the flood is worth nothing if you don’t look at it until the water is at your doorstep. In this country, we calculate Z-scores and cut-off marks as if they were fixed stars, but every year the same children are swept aside while the well-off buy extra tuition. I have seen the damp curl my father’s almanacs because no one thought to patch the roof in time. Delay has its own victims, and they are always the ones without a spare umbrella.
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