Pam thoughtfully traced the contours of her chin with her right hand. We had finally progressed beyond the preliminary explanations to what, for me, was the real purpose of the interview. The teacher was not trained to handle kids with special needs. So, my mother taught me first grade at home, and then I went to a special orthopedic school in Madison for kids with disabilities. I finally agreed, uncomfortable with the patronizing adjectives she was using.
Many people are successful in business.
Many people have nice homes. At any rate, she had just skipped three decades of my life as an adult. Perhaps her builder, thinking linear, couldn't span the gulf between what she liked in both design approaches and what could be shaped into a logical floor plan. I quickly recalled my story about how Pam and I had met and was all ready to repeat it in anticipation of the next question. Her brown eyes grew larger.