I missed my Mom today. I think it’s the first time I’ve genuinely missed her since she died six months ago. That probably sounds harsh. Let me explain…
My Mom was born in 1932.
Which seems an impossibly long time ago,
A time when people existed in black and white,
A time as different as 1960 must seem to my own daughter.
This baby picture of my daughter Maya and her cousin Jordan, who were born two months apart, was reenacted twenty years later.
Airports are generally pretty boring places but, every once in a while, something amazing happens.
I recently celebrated one of those birthdays ending in a zero and was rummaging through some old photos, school records, etc., when I came upon my fourth grade class picture. For those of you who can’t get enough 60s era fashion and hairstyles, the cover photo above is Miss LaRusso’s Fourth Grade Class, Collins School, Livingston, NJ in 1970, when I was ten yours old.
My daughter, Maya, is growing up too quickly. At some point the little girl who used to love to jump into my arms turned into a sophisticated pre-teen with an aversion to displays of affection, especially toward her father. That’s why the hand on my arm took me by surprise.
