When I was 20 years old, I walked out of a train station terminal and into the parking lot. My father sat in the cab of his truck, waiting patiently to pick me up. As I walked into the sunshine flooded parking lot, I noticed a family. A woman a few years older than me handed her toddler to a man who was clearly the woman's father. "Hm," I thought, "I really need to have a kid soon before my dad dies." A few clarifying points are needed. I was not married. I did not have a boyfriend. I lived at home. My father was not sick. Read more >


















