On Friday, March 12, I became 57 years old. I say “became” because I’ve never liked saying “turned.” Either way, I’m 57.
It doesn’t really seem possible. In my mind, I’m a young girl growing up and going to school in Arab.
I’m several different ages. I’m a 12-year-old girl traveling out West seeing this country’s National Parks with my family.
I see Old Faithful in Yellowstone, the glaciers in Glacier National Park, the majesty of The Grand Canyon, and I am in awe at seeing those four presidents on Mount Rushmore.
I’m a 13-year-old girl maneuvering her way through junior high with all its challenges, looking forward to high school and wondering what my adult life would be like.
I’m also an 18-year-old teenager that had the world at her fingertips. I thought I would do amazing things and solve the world’s problems.
Other days, I’m 20 years old in college at Auburn University. I hate to say that because the Tribune editor is strictly an Alabama fan, but it’s true and I’m sticking to it.
I loved my days at Auburn, but it took three separate times of being enrolled there to finish my bachelor’s degree.
I bounced around several state colleges and universities before getting my act together and finishing my degree in social work.
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