…because I’m working and my mind is idly wandering…

Children don’t inherit the world you did, so why should they have the childhood you did?

Or, in other words, why is it so important to me to have my children know about things like the Muppets or Holly Hobby or have similiar experiences as my childhood when their cultural context is completely different?

And who’s to say that my childhood was all that good anyway?

So why does it still feel important to me? Why do I feel sad when I know they probably won’t ever know the thrill of dune buggying around Lake Michigan or tasting fudge on Mackinac Island?

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