I would encourage anybody who knows my family to go read Michelle’s blog (Apr 25 entry) about someone most of you don’t know: my sister-in-law Melissa. Michelle does an excellent job of extolling somebody who had an ENORMOUS impact on my life, and is probably responsible for 10% of the way I think.
When I was 14, I was yanked from London back to the cornfields of Iowa, back to the place where I had been (and was further to be) brutalized by assholes at Franklin Junior High School in Cedar Rapids. I retreated into an incontrovertible silence so hermetically sealed that I didn’t talk for an entire month. These days you would call that “depression” and treat it with “therapy” and perhaps “drugs” – but back then, all I had was Melissa. (see here for an early blog on the subject)
Long before marrying my brother Kent was considered an option, Melissa was at our house every day, playing board games and cards, and taking me to her mom’s second-hand clothes store off Mt. Vernon Road. When my parents started remodeling the kitchen