I am a runt of ten years. My face is thin and scarcely strong enough to hold the weight of my Coke bottle glasses. Although I am this young, I sometimes worry about being prematurely bald. I always wear at least one more layer of clothing than the other kids. Probably, I don’t have the body fat they do to keep warm. My legs do hold me up, but I think of myself as the wobbly old wooden table in the basement holding Mom’s light bulb garden. My toes…
