In Kindergarten, I learned two things. One, five-year-olds are terrible at sharing. And two, you can’t hit people with a Tinkerbell lunchbox.

Morgan McNaulty and I were beefing over the one good blue crayon. Every time I reached for it, she’d scribble even more into her already very blue sky. Mine hadn’t even started. And I had plans. With birds. I asked. She smirked. I reached. She clutched. I cracked. Next thing I knew, I was in time-out with a teacher’s note and a skyless, birdless drawing that didn’t even make it to the fridge. Mrs. Mayo called it “concerning.” My mom called it “embarrassing.” I call it my origin story.

Since then, I’ve traded the lunchbox for language and started using my words. True story. Anyway, if you need help finding the right ones, I’m around.