Jacques L. Bouchard

 For at least five generations, the women in my family have married young. I am my mother’s firstborn, she is my grandmother’s, and she is the firstborn of my great grandmother. This means my mother is 51, my grandmother is 70, and my great grandmother (bless her stars) is 91 this year. Suffice to say, it’ll be a good long while before anyone in my family takes my age seriously. On the bright side, one benefit of being the toddler of the family at age 33  is that, to this day, my grandmother still saves me the comics pages from her newspapers. I pick up a stack every time I…