I once told my mother that we got pulled over by the police because we weren’t wearing seatbelts. This was around 1980, and my age was still a single digit. “Really?”, my mother said. “Yes,” I nodded seriously. “They let us go when they saw we were actually wearing seatbelts, but the seatbelts didn’t go over our shoulders.” The car had lap-belts only. And none of this actually happened. I was making it up, and my mother was well aware of that.
Clearly, I have always been a story teller. As I near the halfway-mark to triple-digit age (which I’m unlikely to reach, thanks to a less than stellar health regimen), my stories have become less fictional and more philosophical.
I refuse to get boxed into a topic or a genre. I’m not into that kind of commitment.