Being a kid was the best.  Summers meant milkshakes and afternoons at the pool, winters meant a steady stream of Christmas cookies and snow angels, and the in between months were filled with satisfying jumps into piles of leaves and scattered puddles with an easy, carefree grin.  A lucky American girl in the eighties, I was safe, and (subconsciously at least!) I knew I was good enough.

Like many of us, however, dozens of snow angels later, I realized there are pretty chocolates and gold stars...