I am of an age to enter kindergarten.

Our mother takes me, my year-younger brother, Michael, and infant sister, Cathy, in for our annual physicals.

Mine is first.  I am tasked to be brave and take my shots first, without crying.  I do this in front of my brother, as a good example.

Of course, the sacrifice of my example is worthless.

All it affords is an opportunity for my little brother to escape the examining room, and the doctor’s office, so our mother has to run catch him out in the small, graveled parking lot.

Then, the doctor measures and weighs me, and pronounces me average.

I am proud to have been found average.

I am privileged to believe I am destined to be completely normal.