It took me nearly two decades to erase the memory of my alienated teenage years. It took my father two minutes and an e-mail message to remind me: "Missy: After you went to college, Mom and I found stacks of dirty dishes under the bed, left from when you took all meals in seclusion." Given the man's tendency to exaggerate (he is also the source of that "preferred pimply boyfriends" rumor), I categorically denied his charge that during high school I emerged "only to use the phone or cry."
Let's put aside, for now, the fact that someone will eventually have...
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