GROWING up in the ’70s, I sat down to a family dinner that was consistent with my parents’ minor-rearing philosophy at the age, which my mother likes to call “benign neglect.” Over dinner, my father briefed my mother on the ins and outs of his day at the office, while my siblings and I zoned outside or piped up or fought over why my older sister always got the corner seat. We sat down as a family to a excellent, healthy meal, however dinner was not what you would call minor-centric — which was fine with us, and certainly fine with them.Glance at More…
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