Last Saturday night, I walked into the backyard of a student-occupied house near the campus of Oberlin College in Ohio. My 82-year old mother held my arm so she wouldn’t stumble on the uneven grass lawn. Smoke drifted through the air, from vapes and joints the students had sparked. The crowd of early 20-somethings pulsed to the progressive jazz played by a pickup band with guitar, drums, saxophone, and vocals, the hosts of this bash. I felt decidedly out of place, as a middle-aged mom of three,
