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By Kathryn E. Eriksen  The number 50 never really had significance to me – it was just halfway between zero and 100. A nice multiple of 10, it was fun to play word games when my daughter was a toddler and pre-schooler (look honey – 50 zebras!)
But now the number 50 has taken on an entirely new meaning. I look in the mirror and see a soon-to-be 50 year old, and I wonder what in the heck happened. And where was I when 50 years of my life passed by? I am the tail wagging the Baby Boomer dog. In 1958, people were still living the idyllic lifestyle created after soldiers returned from war. But the undercurrents of unrest and turmoil that would mark the decade of the sixties were boiling beneath the surface. Turning the corner into the 1960’s was to start a roller coaster ride for everyone living at that time – and I was only two years old! The excitement and attention that a cast draws from your fellow students is only comparable to the excitement YOU feel when the itchy, hot, uncomfortable thing will finally be removed. I could finally take a take a normal bath again! I could wear whatever I wanted to without having to either lose a sleeve or wear something hideous (“No honey, you look fine – really”). And I could make sure that I still had an arm, with normal skin. I even missed seeing my freckles! When the teacher said my mom was there to pick me up, I jumped for joy. Little did I know that the car ride from the doctor’s office would leave an indelible mark on my memory.
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