When she was younger Mom was pale, dark, green-eyed and intense, if not strung-out looking. If she ever smiled it was the mischievous kind, the type of smile most people save for private moments like successfully shoplifting or looking sexy in the mirror. Her smiles always preceded trouble. The naughty look is what made her perfect for the covers of sports magazines despite the fact she never won any medals, made her perfect for local gal makes good news segments, made her transition from athlete to model a natural evolution. That was all before we were born, though, or when we were too young to remember. Very few, if any, photographers called her after the nervous breakdown. She always blamed it on our eighteen month gestation instead, as if such a thing really could happen. The smiling,
