When I was 9, I got my first invitation to a sleepover. We had just moved from the Bronx to Virginia Beach. The birthday girl gave cute invitations to the girls in my class. I knew my mom wouldn’t let me — that I would be the only one who wouldn’t be allowed to go.
My mom had always been very strict about sleepovers. All my siblings knew it wasn’t a question — we were never allowed to stay at someone else’s house. My mom had experienced things as a child, and she wanted to protect us from the same happening to us.
