March 11, 96 When we lived on the Navy base in California, I had several “friends.” One boy, I never found out his name, was one of my “boyfriends.” Jordan was another. There was a girl named Valarie. She had a sister named Katie. I practically worshipped Valarie. Her next-door neigbor’s name was Eden. Eden had a horse toy that Valarie wanted. So one day, when both girls’ families were not home, I pulled Eden’s screen off her front window with a screwdriver. I went into the house, took the horse, and took it to Valarie’s house. Later, the police came to my house. I don’t know what they were expecting, but they were surprised to find a red-faced second-grader.

A different time, Eden and I decided we would be the “Mail-Stealers of the Year.” We went around and took mail out of every box we could find. We took it to my garage and started opening it. Needless to say, we got in major trouble.

Yet another time, once when I got off the school bus, I decided not to go home. So my friends and I went and stole oranges off a neigbor’s tree. We sat and ate oranges for two hours. Mom called dad, and when I saw his car driving past, I thought it was much later than it really was, and cheerfully went home. Mom made me sit in the corner for two hours.

Once I was grounded, but I wanted to play with my friends. So I tied a tape measure and a jumprope together and tied them to a railing on our second-floor balcony. I climbed down and played with my friends for a long time.

Valarie, who as I have said I practically worshipped, fancied a particular kind of flower that grew in some man’s back yard garden. I don’t know what kind it was. Mom could probably tell me, but when I was in second grade I thought it was the prettiest thing in the world. So one day, after I saw the man leave, I climbed over his fence, picked one, and gave it to Valarie (who, I might add, did not even thank me)

But my friendship with Valarie was an off-again/on-again thing, and when added to my general habit of getting into trouble, not really a good thing at all. Once, for instance, I went into her house while she was gone. She had what she called her “Best Dress,” and her “Second-Best Dress.” I found them — they were only dress-up things really. The Best was white and lacy while the Second-Best was black with ugly sequins. I stomped the Best into the mud, tore off and pocketed the sequins, and made off with a boxfull of popsicals.

Not all the things I did were bad. All the kids in the neighborhood would climb the huge trees to pick the gigantic flowers (5″ across) that grew at the top. Nobody minded: there were more flowers than all of us could pick in a decade, and they were swarming with gnats anyway.

I have so many memories of things I did before I was diagnosed with Attention Defecit Disorder and put on Ritalin. ADD is terrible. It really messes you up — in big ways like the tings I’ve been writing about, and in small ways like the way I’ve been writing (handwriting, I mean). It makes you totally impulsive, impatient, and basically a holy — or unholy, as the case may be — terror.

I read in the scriptures that when we are ressurected our bodies will be perfect. I know my children are going to have ADD. I only hope that when I’m a mother I will have developed the strength to deal with them. Now I really have to go. It’s 7:36

<3 Kris <3