My parents popped by before Jay’s birthday and we talked about the year they took me to Italy, because my dad had found work there. It was May 1975 and I was one year old.
The month before Saigon fell.
There are a lot of odd events, big or small, from the 70s that I feel some kind of resonance with, even though I don’t remember them.
The shouldn’t mean anything to me but they do. Just as time periods in which I never lived, like World War 1.
What does that mean?
I will probably never know, but what I do know is that it means lots of stuff for stories.