I was a difficult child. I know this not because my seven siblings are around to remind me of past offenses, nor even because my own children are – spirited.
No, it dawned on me that I must have been difficult when I called a business and the person I was trying to contact was in a meeting. His assistant asked for my name and phone number.
“Mary Brzustowicz….”
She cut me off.
“Brzustowicz? “Brzustowicz”?!”
“Yes, it’s an unusual last name, please let me spell it for you….”
“You had Miss Strite for kindergarten, didn’t you?”
“Why, yes, yes, I did,” I marveled. That had been decades ago.
“Well, I remember you. I was student teaching back then and you were a most difficult child.”
Seriously? Do I look difficult? This is probably the only time I was ever in the back row!
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