Eight Eterna

As a child, I was remarkably mature. I read Time from cover to cover from the third grade on, the same grade in which I started reading paperbacks (The Sheriff of Painted Post and The Fan Dancer's Horse were my first two). I scored well on achievement tests, made top grades, performed in plays, wrote poetry, and drew pictures. And I was usually the tallest girl in my class.

Not all of my days were happy. I was also an extremely anxious child who, needless to say, didn't fit in well with her peers. But third grade was good. I remember standing on the back steps of North Waco Elementary, in the line going in for something or coming out for something, and deciding that that I liked being eight and wasn't going to get any older.

And in many ways I haven't.