The Real Drug, I Came To Believe,

Every Child, Woman, And Man Should Possess License To Speak Or Sing In His Or Her True Voice.

To Share Our Stories Is Not Only A Worthwhile Endeavor For The Storyteller, But For Those Who Hear Our Stories And Feel Less Alone Because Of It.

I'd Known Enough Flush Times And Lean Ones To Understand That Money Came And Went. And That One Day I'd Also Lose My Looks, My Seemingly Boundless Energy And Maybe The Ability To Catch The Eye Of An Attractive Man And The Audacity To Rollerblade. My Name Would Be Forgotten. So Would Bad Reviews, And Good Ones. But Loving A Child Is Something That Lasts. Long After All The Rest Is Gone, That's What Endures.

As For Me, I've Chosen To Follow A Simple Course: Come Clean. And Wherever Possible, Live Your Life In A Way That Won't Leave You Tempted To Lie. Failing That, I'd Rather Be Disliked For Who I Truly Am Than Loved For Who I Am Not. So, I Tell My Story. I Write It Down. I Even Publish It. Sometimes This Is A Humbling Experience. Sometimes It's Embarrassing. But I Haul Around No Terrible Secrets.

When I Was 12 Years Old, I Read Nancy Drew Mysteries And Biographies Of Madame Curie And Florence Nightingale And Books About Girls Who Love Horses Or Go To Nursing School. I Belonged To The Girl Scouts And Got A's In School And Rarely Disobeyed My Parents. I Still Kept A Collection Of Barbie Dolls In My Room, And I Almost Never Spoke To Boys.