I was born with a hole in my heart. I’ve always thought that would make a good first line for a story but in reality, it wasn’t that dramatic. It was a small hole and by the time I was 5, it had dutifully, reflexively, anticlimactically healed itself.
Kathy was my first friend. She wore princess costumes and when we played cowboys and Indians at recess she was always the one who got tied to the tree. To defend her from the cowboys, I’d hoot and shriek and stab the air with a sharp stick.
My first job was at an ice cream parlor when I was 12. I liked the free sample I’d get during break but afterwards, I had to practice scooping perfect 8 ounce dollops onto a scale before I could get back to work. The manager would watch over my shoulder until I could produce…
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