I know my mother was once a child because I have photographic evidence.
A black-and-white picture, the only image of her childhood that exists. It’s around 1945, and she is 2 or 3 years old, standing chubby-kneed and belly-forward on steps in front of a modest house with channel siding. A too-small cardigan hugs her arms, and she holds the preposterousl…
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Other People’s Parents to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.