What I was told I could grow up to be

Mom and Dad were born years before women could be trusted with the vote. By the time I arrived, there was nothing remarkable about a woman hanging up her apron, putting on her low heels, and strolling to the polls.

I was the fourth and emphatically final child. My folks were old. Steady. Patient. And probably tired. They charitably described me as “a handful” and went about civilizing me, but they made no attempt to rein in my imagination.