Probably Kidding

When most people my age talk about motherhood, they are either complaining about their own mothers or expressing the means to which they go to ensure that they don’t soon become mothers.   If they are talking about their own experiences as mothers, it’s in reference to brand-new babies, who they can dress up in cute Halloween costumes and show off in adorable Instagram posts.   They rarely talk about what it’s like to raise a twelve-year-old seventh grader, unless of course they’re in conversation with me. To be clear, the seventh grader in question is my younger sister, and I am not raising her on my own.   Though they joke about being hands-off with their third child, my parents are very much so involved in my sister’s life.   My mom still has a mini-van so she can cart around gaggles of girls to their favorite store, Ulta Beauty, and my dad is still the assistant coach of the church basketball team.   However, since moving back home after gr...

            My Grandma always mentioned getting the typewriter working again.   Every time I climbed on top of the loft bed in the office that used to be my uncle’s bedroom to play around with the keys, she would say that it would work if only she could find a ribbon for it.   She would then go on to talk about her time in school and how she had to take a test when she wanted to be a secretary.   In order to be even considered for a job, she had to be able to type a certain number of words per minute.   She could have gone to college, she did well in high school and even won a scholarship, but her family was not wealthy.   Besides, college was boring, more school.   Joining the workforce, being a secretary in Manhattan was glamorous, much better than the other two options afforded female professionals in those days, a nurse (gross, blood) or a teacher (gross, children).   ...