When I was five I thought my mother was the smartest and prettiest  woman in the world. I worshipped her every move and believed every word. At age ten I thought she was still pretty and knew a lot. At age fifteen I wondered what alien planet had dropped her on earth and how she managed to function. At age twenty I thought she must be reading at night and somehow she had managed to get a better looking hairdo. At age thirty I still thought I knew more than she did but I started to ask her opinion about things. At age forty I could not believe how dumb I was and how many times she was right more often than me. It was annoying.

Now here I am...at 66 and she's 92. I ask her for advice all the time. She shrugs and says, "You figure it out!"