One of the great mysteries that your parents will never tell you, or your grandparents for that matter, that it doesn’t matter how old you are, you will always have a piece of your 16-year-old self in your soul.

Apparently this is a damned secret that all parents take some sort of parent code where they decide you must figure this out for yourself. It must be some sort of Skulls and Bones secret society oath that each mother and father take on the day you are born. I imagine capes and witchcraft that the secret must be kept!

It really is the only explanation.

Fragments of that 16-year-old include that no one ever feels that they are the actual age they are. I constantly feel like that I shouldn’t be on the front side of 50. It shocks me, quite frankly, and I still go through the highs and lows of lack-of-confidence, finding my swagger, losing my swagger, seeking my mojo, realizing it was there and so on.

It still pains me to see people be purposefully mean-spirited, I still get a bit dusty-eyed every single time I see To Kill A Mockingbird and I’m still a “star in my car’ when I like a song on the radio. You will see me singing like I’m channeling Robert Plant and I do no apologize.

And, to quote my sister, I rarely feel like a “growed up” although I am required to do “growed up” things.

I know, random.