Yesterday I received a message from my old college friend Jerry, who remembered my mother, and my father, from Parents’ Weekend our freshman year. His note reminded me of a trip we took to Martha’s Vineyard one year after graduation. My mother had sent me off with some grapes, wrapped in a paper towel – to absorb the moisture – inside a plastic bag.
In the car, Jerry pulled out a snack his mother had prepared for him. It was a cluster of grapes, wrapped in a paper towel inside a plastic bag. Jerry wondered if there had been a training school in the ’50s that all mothers had attended.
