Most of my visitors were adults. This suited me just fine, however, for I felt more at ease with people who were older than myself. With a few exceptions, I generally found myself inhibited around youth, for acceptability was judged within narrow and often unreasonable bounds with which I did not care to grapple. Moreover, because I did not have a particular crowd with whom I closely associated, preferring to roam with one individual at a time, group situations flooded me with apprehension. One such group was church school. Although I truly enjoyed the adults who attended the services each Sunday, my March 21 entry reads: "I didn't want to go to church" (I really never like to). It was the heart-felt sentiments of a rebellious youth, perhaps, who did not wish to sit through an hour-long service, yet my foremost objection surrounded the obligatory church school and Sunday evening MYF (Methodist Youth Fellowship; I rarely attended the MYF meetings during the administration of chemotherapy, although my parents had me begin again after the treatments had ceased). I attempted to make conversation or listen to those speaking nearby, yet could never include myself to an even modest degree. As I approached a circular gathering of kids, the circle would never break or widen to allow me to "join in." For awhile I stood behind the circle of heads, smiling stupidly at their jokes and listening to the flood of chatter surrounding people I'd never known, until the bell announced it was time to file to the classroom. Eventually, I tired of the hopeless battle and spoke with my parents' friends or else made an early debut in the empty church classroom and waited for the clock to herald the beginning of the hour in a less humiliating fashion. That I did not share common friends with the church youth was complicated further by the fact that my "shyness" grew when ignored. When I found myself in an awkward situation, I lost my ability to speak quite as effectively as if my voice box had been stolen. Thus, if I spoke a word or two and was left unanswered, verbalization became increasingly more difficult until I could not speak if I wanted to do so. I recall an outing (or retreat) on which Mom insisted I go, wherein, during a meeting to plan activities, my suggestion to go on a bike excursion was virtually eye-balled off the list as if it was an incredibly ridiculous thing to have mentioned. I swallowed hard, and wished I could melt into the wood of my bench. Later in the meeting other questions were tossed about and, having considered a likely answer to one, I opened my mouth, fully intending to speak, but nothing would pass through my lips. I shut my mouth again, rather shocked, yet happy that no one had seen my strange gesture.