While going through boxes in the basement, I found my baby book. My mother had tucked this piece of paper inside:
I don’t know how old I was, but I had to have been pretty young. (Mom, do you remember?)
If you click to enlarge, you can just barely make out that: 1) I had yet to master the lower-case a; 2) the spelling of the word “cousin” had me completely flummoxed; and 3) my understanding of story structure has come a long way. “Look! Look! A bird nest. We will have to take care of it. If we don’t it will die.” “OK. Let’s go to the store and buy a big Ice-Cream.” “OK. A big big big one!”
So much for the poor little bird. But, I mean, come on! Ice cream!
At the bottom of the page, my mom wrote: “She wrote this story completely by herself. Maybe we have a budding author on our hands.”
Aw, Mom! Sniffle…
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