I’m 62 years old, so I figure I’ve been a 17-year-old three and a half times over.

As a first-time teenager, I worried about geometry tests, boys and whether my fingernail polish matched my skirt. Now, I ponder important stuff like gasoline prices, fat grams and whether I turned off the iron.

I used to measure success by the number of my friends, but now I know that one close friend is better than money and fame.

For teenagers, hurting means being jilted or broken hearted by an unkind remark. Today, if you ask me what hurts, the answer is usually ‘everything,’ but now I know that hearts heal and unkind words are usually regretted.

Like most teens, I had a lean, strong and supple body, which isn’t true today, but at the same time, I am more comfortable in my own skin.

And although I once had a teenager’s perfect eyesight instead of bifocals, my third turn at being a teenager has given me clearer vision of the world.

It was great fun to be a teenager during the 1950s, when the term ‘teenager’ was first coined. But I like being an experienced teen even better.