I realized something recently, about my younger self. She assumed her elders wished that they were young again—her age, or younger still.
I continued to assume this well into my thirties, all the while not envying a younger age myself. This lack of envy should have challenged my assumption—but I wasn’t really conscious I was making it at all, so it remained.
Photographs aside, the record of my children’s childhood I’ll treasure the most is one I never planned to keep.
It began when, at the age of two, our first child started speaking in sentences. I was so delighted by the gems he came out with—so eager to share them with my husband and yet so prone to forgetting them before he finished work—that I’d reach for my phone.
“The act of sharing those gems, of having friends and family delight in them too, added to the fun …
