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Seeing My Mother in Mary Kay Letourneau

At first, I didn’t realize that my family’s origin story was a little off. I have a distinct memory of showing my music teacher a copy of my dad’s senior yearbook, pointing out the pictures of my parents with no real awareness of anything strange. My sister and I would pore over the words my mother had inscribed in…

The Price of Vigilance

In order to get to the women’s bathroom at Radio City Music Hall, you have to pass through an old-fashioned sitting room lined with yellow upholstered sofas and tan leather chairs. Painted onto the walls are murals of ladies in various stages of powdering their noses. It’s a familiar ritual: women helping women get…

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