Bob Dylan was right.

In between the period of my life when Saturdays were filled with Pop Tarts, early morning cartoons, and swimming at the municipal pool, I got married, divorced and witnessed the birth of my second son.

The world changed.

Two of the Beatles died.

Billy Joel lost his hair.

And my life grew more complicated.

My parents — who have been a monumental presence in my life — now look their age. My mother doesn’t hear very well, and my father, who used to cut ricks of firewood for sport, now moves much slower. He sits more and chops less.

My children are quickly growing up.

Ethan, at 14, is tall, gangly and sporting the first vestiges of a mustache. Sara is willowy with curves and a smile that melts hearts. Clay is no longer three and toddling; he’s ten and a starter on the baseball team.

I feel like that song by Bowling For Soup:

“...and bring back

Springsteen, Madonna

Way before Nirvana,

There was U2 and Blondie

And music still on MTV...”