I had to be taught that the world was not my oyster. As a child I was quite sure that I was destined for a wondrous life of adventure and distinction. I was the first born in my family, the first child, the first grandchild, the first niece; everyone was crazy about me. My mother swears that on the day I was born my father floated across the room, so filled with joy and pride that his feet literally glided above the floor as he held me in his arms for the first time. I realize now that this is implausible, of course, but when I was young it was part of our family mythology. I had caused my dad to fly. My family adored me; they made me feel as if I was significant.
© The Author