|Me, circa 1985-86 — a lifetime ago.|
... it was a very strange year.
And — one I've been revisiting this past week. I do it every year at this time, but 2010 marks 25 years of time's passage.
It is amazing to me how parts (both good and bad) of that 17-year-old girl still are inside me.
And I like it that way. She keeps me honest. And she keeps me strong. Stronger than she ever knew was possible.
I'm glad she grew up, and I wish she could meet who she grew up to be. She'd ask where her two children are (twins, boy and a girl), is her S-class Benz being detailed, why is she not working for the Trib — and, wait! what the hell happened to the Trib?! What the hell happened to all the newspapers?!
Over a cup of coffee — two sugars, cream (still) — I'd tell her all about the last quarter-century. To which, she'd probably say, "Damn, we're old."
To which I'd shake my head, smile, and say: "Nope. Not at all. We're here. We're still here."