There are a select few things that I remember about reading and writing growing up. New situations always make me a bit nervous, and my first swimming lesson was no exception.
Our Best Experts. There are no guardrails, flimsy though I picture them, or other safety devices. My first memories of learning literacy skills started with the typical bedtime stories by my parents. The first few memories, I was spent with strangers.
However, there was always this part of me that wanted out. I imagine my own funeral, then shrink back at the implications of where my thoughts are taking me. I remember being dragged along like a child's limp rag-doll, bounding side to side.
Growing up, I had always been fascinated with the ocean and the unknown that lies beneath the still, blue waters. This specific book, which I unfortunately am unable to recall the name of, was a smaller chapter book I read in early grade school.
All of these elements need to seamlessly combine. But they also tear me apart.