Mom’s rules for the internet

Miss Communication

It was a 20-minute drive from my childhood home in San Diego to my middle school one town over. Twenty minutes that my mom never failed to capitalize on. It was the time for her proverbial lectures on the dangers of the world. I was her captive audience, and our
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Rewind, press play

Off the Beat

Movies are my own vantage points into the past. Rather than the photo albums my mom meticulously keeps or the half-scribbled-in diaries I sometimes find around my childhood room, movies are access points from which I can tap into my past.
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