When I graduated from high school, my mom wrote me a letter reminiscing about my years growing up. “Your inquisitiveness about killed me,” she wrote…or something like that. She was...
The stares. The squeals. The breeching of our space bubbles. The hair touching, especially the curly kind. The cheek pinching. The not-so-sneaky pictures. The in-your-face pictures, without even asking. The...