Riddle me this, Batman … Why is it that when people can no longer see the tiny print in the newspaper or make out the dishes on offer on a menu, they’ll take a trip to the optometrist to get their eyes checked. Or, at least, pop down to the local drug store and pick up a pair of readers. However, when their ears start to show the same signs of wear and tear, they stubbornly refuse to acknowledge that they might need a little outside assistance in the hearing department. Or, is this something unique to my parents?
About five, maybe six, maybe more, years ago I moved into my parent’s house to help them out, as they’re getting older and, apparently, I’m not. In exchange, I pay no rent and am free to write to my heart’s content. I know. It’s a pretty sweet deal. Continue reading →
he way it really happened or simply the way it’s been remembered, I can’t say for sure. But family history has it that my mother was so enamored and protective of me that she didn’t let anyone — including my father and grandparents — hold me for the first six weeks of my life. So it’s not surprising that at an age when other babies were being potty-trained and learning to walk, I was perfecting my ability to manipulate my mom in order to get anything my devious little heart desired. 
Pucker Up Buttercup 