One miraculous day in the summer of 1959 my mother got up early, drove my father to his car-pooling friend's home, and had the car all day. Then she got Judie and me, picked up my grandmother at The Morrowfield, and we drove to Kennywood, our beloved amusement park.

I couldn't get over it. Kennywood was something you went to once a year on School Picnic Day and maybe one other time. Is this what it meant to be grown-up? You think about Kennywood and you drive your husband to work and you just decide to go to Kennywood??

It was a week day, we were early, and there were few people around. The sun shone, it was a beautiful summer morning. My mother and grandmother stood, smiled, and watched Judie and me blissfully ride mostly of the Kiddyland rides because Judie was younger than I. I remember being a pretty good sport about that, but we did go on the merry-go-round a few times.

Riding the merry-go-round was an intense experience for me and my friends. It was a microcosm of all of life. There's this booming music that provides the rhythm and background, there's only a certain, brief amount of time available to jump up and grab a horse to ride, then settled, you go up and down to the music and watch your parents as they waved; going around in a circle, you could see your mother (and grandmother) briefly, everybody waving, then you were separated and the whole thing began again.

I wondered that day in Kennywood why my mother and grandmother looked so pleased, waving at us as we whirled and they stood still. It may have been the first glimpse I was offered into motherhood.