The Dysfunctional Family

I wasn't always so distrustful. There was a time when gullibility ruled, and I'd believe just about anything that anyone told me. Driver's Ed in high school is a good example of how I allowed those in authority to control my fate. From the moment I squashed into the back seat of that white nondescript Ford compact that was the standard vehicle for school instruction, I knew I'd be low man on the totem pole--that is to say, I'd have to compete with two high normals, as in kids who were smart and didn't struggle with anxiety and worries as I did. There was Nancy from my junior high school sewing class who looked like she stepped out of Little House on the Prairie and Bob, a schizoid type personality who acted like a juvenile delinquent but scored high enough on SATs to get into Yale. I intuited correctly that Nancy was a pro sewer. I knew this on sight because it was obvious from her demeanor and dress that Nancy had been sewing up a storm for years. She was the ...