I have always enjoyed words and the beauty of what they can convey.  For years friends and family have told me that I have a natural talent for writing and so today I came back here.

I did not even remember I had started this account and it so happened that a friend wanted to know about blogging.  As I asked friends on Facebook for recommendations, this popped up.  Coincidence?
Hmmm.

As a little girl I was a great story teller verbally but then when I began to write, it all flowed so easily.  English was not my first language, it was Spanish.  But coming to America I had to learn it, because back in 1964 there was no such thing as bilingual programs.

I was fortunate to land in Mrs. Dorkin's English class and she immediately took a liking to me.  She spoke Spanish and would speak to me in my native language, as she tried to teach me English.  She was and always will be, the most beautiful person I met at 8 years old.  A woman with freckles and beautiful golden red hair.  Soft spoken and well mannered, Mrs. Dorkin was a real lady.  She would always tell me, "Pat just because you don't know English right now, don't think you won't get it.  You will.  You are a very smart young lady.  Just be patient."

Patience.  Ah yes.  One I have yet to master.

While my father wanted me to integrate, as quickly as possible into America's mainstream, he insisted that I keep up my native tongue.  My summers were not like other children I knew.  My consisted of two editorials from local Spanish newspapers.  I had to copy them per verbatim in long-hand.  My father also believed in good penmanship.  Then I was to give a spoken report on what each editorial was referring to.  Can you imagine?  Eight years old and I had to form an opinion of what I had read and discuss it with my dad when he came home from work.

Needless to say, I didn't enjoy these daily assignments or the math problems he left for me to complete.

As a result of this torture, I excelled in math and written reports always.  As I got more comfortable with English, I began to play mental games with myself.  Such as, "If I say it this way in Spanish, how do I say it in English?"  Then I would do the reverse.  English to Spanish.

My parents bought me an encyclopedia when I was 10.  My parents paid it on an installment plan; we were not exactly the Rockefellers.  I got assignments on those too.  I started with A of course and had to tell my dad every day during the summer what had I learned under the letter A.  Those books were in fact full of great information and great reference before Google.

Recently, while cleaning out a closet, I found the first 13 letters, don't know what happened to the rest of the set.  I thought of tossing them out, but one Sunday, I sat with the letter A and remembered a time of my life when books were my best friends.

An only child, sheltered and protected by two loving parents, my world was like no one I knew.  My only friends were the children I went to school with or my cousins.  I was not allowed to participate in sleep overs or birthday parties, unless they were for my cousins.

Years later, as I listened to stories of others and how they grew up, I realized I was different.  That's another blog.