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Submitted by Teresa Prout

I first noticed him at the gate before our flight to New York City -- a man in his 60s who reminded me of a well-dressed Paulie Walnuts. He and his wife were on their way to New York for a visit, I heard him say, but they were from Greensboro.

The flight landed; my husband and I made our way to the city, unpacked and went out looking for food. We picked a little Greek restaurant near our hotel pretty much at random.

"Hey," my husband said looking toward the back of the restaurant. "That guy looks like the man on our plane." Then a few minutes later: "That IS the guy on our plane. What are the odds of that?"

Paulie Walnuts seemed less than impressed with the coincidence and went on his way. But ...

Two days later, we stopped by a coffee shop on our way to a Yankees game and there he was again. Eating a bagel.

Had I seen him later, in the crowd of 54,000 at Yankee Stadium, that "Sopranos" connection might've troubled me.

"Check this out," my husband said, laughing. And there they were. In an ad. They were labeled "patio dresses." But they were, in fact, the same shapeless, knee-length house dresses that my mother-in-law used to wear. A little like a house coat, except that you pull them over instead of buttoning them up.

My mother-in-law accessorized with her Girl Scout shoes -- brown, lace-up, low heels -- and as often as not with an apron tied around her waist. Rushing from oven to stove and back again. Grandchild balanced on one hip. The look suited her.

So there's that ad, and it hit me like a well-aimed brick that it's targeting my generation. All the boomers growing old in America. It's only natural that we women would want to put aside our T-shirts and jeans and go straight to house dresses.

Speaking only for myself: Hell, no. I won't go.

-- Teresa Prout

When my older son was in pre-school, he went through a bad patch. Miserable, not quite sure why. I was getting called away from work daily to comfort him. On one such day, he and I were leaving the school. I was holding his hand, feeling guilty and pretty miserable myself, when he looked up at me and said: "Mom, you're always there for me."

Yes, I thought, and I always will be. I felt it in my soul -- a promise to him and to his little brother.

Flash forward a couple of decades, and I'm talking to this same son. He's just started a graduate program in education, and he's telling me about the children he's working with, about the importance of nurturing their creativity and viewing them as individuals. My first thought is that a world of frustration awaits him -- bureaucracy, conformity, negativity. I want to warn him. I really do. But you know, he just might become a really great teacher, the kind who shapes lives. What could be better than that?

I smile and nod -- there for him, certainly. But this time, maybe it's best to stand back and watch. And be proud.

-- Submitted by Teresa Prout