In elementary school, most of the girls I knew were told they “talk too much in class.”
Both of my sisters got those lovely comments on their report cards from time to time.
I was a roamer.
I didn’t talk all that much; I wanted out. Out of whatever classroom I was in.
I have insatiable curiosity.
I saw myself as “life’s little observer.”
I always sensed that something interesting was happening…somewhere else.
And I was hell-bent on finding out where it was, who was involved, how things were playing out, and even why.
My modus operandi was simple. Ask for a bathroom pass or volunteer to deliver something to the library, office, or anywhere.
And get the hell out.
I felt like Maya Angelou’s “caged bird” trapped in Mrs. Rosenthal’s 3rd-grade classroom.
Of course, the tall people in charge at Woodbrook Elementary School –and my parents—weren’t keen on this roaming thing. (Wasn't I a...
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