One day over lunch Mary Virginia and I were talking about how things were when I was a kid. I explained that we only had one phone and it was attached to the wall so we couldn’t take it into the yard or in the car. And the only thing it did was make phone calls. It didn’t send messages, play audio books, or provide driving directions. If you looked at it, it would not turn your face into a kitty cat.
There was no such thing as Netflix. There were kid shows on Saturday morning, but we couldn’t choose them. We just watched what was on.
I couldn’t tell if she fully understood me, and I get it. I remember having a hard time conceptualizing the stories my mom and dad told about their childhoods. I can’t quite remember life before I heard “Heartbreaker” by Mariah Carey.
But what was I thinking? Mary Virginia always gets it. And not only does she get it, she can articulate it better than I ever could.
“Mommy,” she said. “When you were a kid was like our house when there’s a really big storm and the power goes out.”