Freelance writer dabbling heavily in storytelling, black coffee and meandering conversations.
When I was a kid...
I had to repeat the first grade because when it was time to make macaroni necklaces or catch cooties or whatever, I would curl up under a desk to read books and write stories. My teacher, Mrs. Draper, told my parents that I was socially inept and recommended a specialist. But, when a windowless '91 Ford Econoline showed up to recess two days later carrying a litter of candy-strapped puppies, guess which one of Mrs. Draper's first-graders didn't end up with their face on a milk carton?
Hint: It was me.