It was hard to imagine my parents as children. To me, they had been born old and were just getting older. When they talked about days gone by, the photographs they turned to were black and white. Our world was in colour. What they talked about was hard to relate to. It was more like hearing a story than a real event.
Maybe it's because they had too much to do to enjoy the kind of childhood we had — they both grew up during the depression and had to work in order to help their families survive. Neither of my parents had the luxury of going to college or university. They learned from books and through experience, and were intellectuals in their own right.
I hoped that my kids would relate to my stories, but life changes so much between generations that Aaron and Katie probably listened with an attitude much like mine had been: "If you really were a kid at one time...why don't you understand kids NOW?"