Like all of the scattered recollections I can access from the earliest years of my life, the memory is fuzzy. It’s more a cluster of blurry snapshots unified by a jumble of vague feelings. There is box of crayons, a wooden sailboat floating across the page, and a teacher’s loaded question.
“Why is the ocean purple?”
In this moment, there’s confusion, embarrassment, and about as much self-doubt as this barely self-aware first grader is capable of.
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