Parenting’s Unexpected Gift As we walk into the old, sprawling new and used bookstore to join their monthly book club for the first time, I can feel the eyes of the group on us, their curiosity plain, though they are generous of spirit and welcoming. It will be four more months before one of them works up the nerve to ask how we know each other, trying to decipher our relationship. We make an odd pair, I suppose. Jan is the older of us two. Same age as my own mom, in fact. She exudes warmth and acceptance, which draws people to her. Then they become smitten by her wit, intelligence and self-deprecating grace. She is also, to use her word, “butch.” Everything she wears was purchased in the men’s department. She’s got a wallet in the back pocket of her Carhartt pants. Her ears, however, dangle silver Native American art. She once lived on a reservation in Montana where she worked with Native Americans and their culture has held sway in her heart ever since. I, on the...