"You're going to poke your eye out with that stick!" What a classic admonition! I have been so privileged. I always thought I grew up like everybody else, that families got along at least as well or better than mine, and of course, that all other kids had it better than me. It was a terrible shock to learn the things my friends went through, the sinister little games people played, the really vile things people do to each other. I am no longer so naive but I still have to recalibrate when I hear about what I “missed.” Both my folks valued accurate and non-destructive communication, respect for person and property (never mark in books or bend the pages, no littering, etc.). We spent a lot of time outdoors, and they went backpacking a lot, taking incredible photographs.

My mother kept the house filled with library books from every city around us, and my father made sure the stereo quality was up to the classical and ethnic music they played. Meals were simply prepared and beautifully presented—several different vegetables, whole or cut precisely, rich colors, nothing in sauces, dark green salads with all kinds of extras added. Thick, rare slabs of beef. I longed for macaroni and cheese, white bread and bologna sandwiches, hostess cupcakes instead of fruit with plain yogurt.