When I was young, I was just me. I was more honest in my interactions and reactions with the world. I remember wanting a library card so that I could choose my own books. It was my goal. I worked so hard at learning to write my name and address so that I could fill out the application. No one stood over me. No one pushed or pulled or prodded. It was just me and the library and a piece of paper. After many tries, I finally was able to write the information so that the librarian could read it. I was proud - not that I filled out the paper - but that I could pick out books. I still remember the light slanting in through the high windows of the library down onto the floor between the stacks. I sat on the floor riffling through the shelf weighting the merits of this book versus that. I count that as a shinny bright memory bead on the necklace of my life. I was four.