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It was a dark and stormy night. Well, actually, I don't really know. It could have been. Anyway, it was September 21, 1982, about nine o'clock at night, when I suddenly appeared in Roosevelt, Utah.
I was a good kid. I won a "Cutest Baby" contest once - and I have the newspaper article to prove it. When I was about a month old, we moved to California. My dad had been transferred to a little town called Willows, and, being kinda dependant on him, I was obliged to go, too.
We lived in Willows for years. I said my first words there, took my first steps, went to school for the first time, and made my first friends. We lived in a little house about a block from the school, right by the train tracks. My brother and I would go and stand out by the back fence and wave at the conductors as they went by, and they'd wave back at us.
Oh, yeah, my brother. He was born when I was three, on April 18th, 1985. There was no hospital in Willows, so my mom had to go to the neighboring town of Chico. Chico means 'little boy' in Spanish. Kind of cool, huh? I liked my brother, and continued to do so for many years.
When I was five, the summer after I had completed Kindergarten, my dad got transferred again. This time we were moving to Colorado. I was kind of upset - of all the states to move to, they had to choose one that I'd never even heard of! But I went, anyway.
I started first grade in Basalt, Colorado. Another small town. I grew up there. I started to do activities - Girl Scouts, violin, sports, and other stuff. I had a best friend who lived a few houses down from me, a comfy room of my own - pink, even! - and I got all S's and O's in school (satisfactory and outstanding, for those who don't remember elementary school grading). I don't remember many specific events from those years - just assorted pictures. Learning to ski at As...
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