When I was in grade school, before sixth grade, I did some peculiar things. For instance, one time, I had an uncontrollable compulsion to do cartwheels wherever I went. I was excited and full of energy. I did not kmow what to do with myself. When we were suppose to stay in line to be picked for one or the other baseball team, I was cartwheeling in the background. I could not help myself. In the outfield, guess what? I was cartwheeling. A ball landed nearby. It took me a few minutes to understand what I was there for, so I picked it up and threw it back.

One day when in sixth or seventh grade, I took off and rode my bicycle over thirty miles to my grandmothers house. On a whim. I started out not understanding specifically where she lives but figured it out. I then rode back in rush hour traffic. I always stood in the area following my mothers instructions, unless I told her I was going to a friends nearby.