In my circle of mommy friends, I am perhaps one of the oldest. Sometimes I feel like an old fogey and cannot make any sense of what the mommies are talking about. Other times I feel like the enlightened one who has had the privilege of seeing a few more (or decades) of summer than the gang. For the longest time I felt trapped and did not know if I was part of this cool gang. Nor did I feel comfortable with the older lot of mommies whose children were finishing school and exiting their teens. I thought something was wrong with me. Then I discovered I was not the only one.

1979. This was the problem. It was not me or you. It was the damn year that I was born in. Continue reading