A brief message before the main feature… I grew up being called the ‘smart, quiet one’. The bookworm. Somewhere between elementary school and grade nine, I slowly began to morph into – not one of the popular girls – but someone with more of a sense of herself, an honour roll student, a budding writer. Why? Back then, in the early 60s, I don’t recall that there was much to be afraid of. Not having that burden of fear was liberating, although we didn’t know how lucky we were. Was it because my mother believed in my potential, encouraged me, loved me unequivocally? Perhaps it was the discipline of the nuns and priests who kept us on the straight and narrow. Spending hours and…

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