A few years ago, I was attending a gala luncheon with some alumni from the University where I worked.
When my daughter was six-years old she often spent her afternoons with her best friend Brianna.
How was I different? I spent most of my time in my room when other children were out making friends, causing trouble, playing baseball, or any other number of things.
She came in one misty spring morning without fanfare just the slide step-clunk, step-clunk of a girl swinging her right leg in a brace to slide- step-clunk.
The spinster and I are not friends. I keep her at a distance where she belongs, encrusted in history like a relic. With good reason. No woman wants to be caught standing beside her.
There has always been a reason to feel different. When I was five we moved to Louisiana, and it was my strange Alabama accent--the way I said "niiiight". When I was nine it was my lig
As the French say, "Vive la differance." It is a true statement. Being different is what makes us unique from everyone else.
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