At 15, I knew everything. At 16, I could do anything. In my eyes, my parents grew dumber every year I grew smarter. What could they know? Their adolescence was a distant, faded memory—like worn out jeans thrown away long ago. I could no more picture them as pimply peers than I could imagine letting them know my innermost thoughts.
Truth be told, I was no model teenager. I was an indifferent student who preferred to read long depressing Russian novels than go to school. (Now the truth is out! I was a high school truancy officer’s nightmare!). Ancient black and white photos show an... Read More