School was hard for me I remember my elementary school years days I would say “No, Mom! Don’t make me go to school!” Even at age seven, it seemed impossible to control my tongue. The thing just seemed much too big for my mouth. “Mom,” I pleaded, “the kids constantly make fun of me, everyone is always correcting me. Please, Mom, don’t make me go!” No matter how much fussing or crying, my no-nonsense mother would put me on the bus where my brother John would sit close to me. Only nine, he already knew when I would start looking sick and would tell the bus driver to stop the bus so he could open the front door to let me throw up. Wisely, I always sat in the front seat right behind the door for that horrible ride to Kidron Elementary School. My earliest school days began with that constant agony – what would happen to me today and how would I make it through one more day? My fear and apprehension always resulted in my stomach being tied in a knot.