On campus, a very young man asked if Klara is my daughter or granddaughter. The funny thing is that it’s a perfectly reasonable question: I’m an old, old mother. And I know exactly who to blame. Bananas.
When N heard that our little nephew was given banana puree as his first solid food, he said that had he been given bananas back in 1976, he’d grow up to be a much happier person and would have met me 15 years sooner. But we weren’t raised on this kind of sweetness and our lives turned out way too bitter for way too long.
P.S. Do I need to explain that bananas are a metaphor and it’s not actual bananas I’m talking about?

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