Old me is going to look at you and tell you I love you, and you're going to scream at me that your life is over and that I will never understand, and you're right about at least half of that. I probably won't ever understand you. But I did once. I promise.
The ability to talk about boys with my daughter will definitely come in handy soon. We're going to be at "that age" in no time. I don't know if me being gay is going to make it easier for her to confide in me, but if it does, great.
When I was diagnosed and first trying to make sense of it, what I wanted most was to talk with another woman who had been through it and come out the other side, someone who could reassure me with full confidence that it wouldn't be a permanent condition.
They say kids say the darndest things. But my belief is that it's 75-year-old parents who have just discovered a new movie who really blurt out classic nuggets of truth (hell, just look at Shit My Dad Says).
I had no idea what I wanted to do or be, and in many ways his passing felt like I was starting from scratch... like I had to relearn how to have Thanksgiving dinner or shop for Christmas gifts, blow out my birthday candles -- would I even want birthday candles again?
I tell myself I should buy sparklers but when I look up, I'm late for jack-o-lanterns. Once upon a time we talked about Disney World, but they were too young, now we are in a sprint to beat the imminent disdain for princesses.
When children take on the role of caretakers in their families, they view the world differently; they see the struggles of their parents and understand that playing with dolls and train sets cannot improve the situation.
I'm old enough to admit to being confused about the exact import of the term "old school." Is it good or bad? A compliment or a putdown? A shout-out to a code of conduct that, while not flashy, emphasizes substance, hard work and real skill, or a rebuff to anything that happened before the 1990s?
It's easy to fall into the gendered trap of assuming that hammers and nails are the preferred territory of boys, but my 5-year-old daughter attacked this building project with more enthusiasm than I have seen her show in weeks.