in my stomach. I never told anyone. I was too ashamed and embarrassed and worried. Somehow, I thought that I was going to jail. I thought that I now OWED the bank money, as if because I didn't pay them (aka deposit money) then I was indebted to them.

After a year or so, I'd forget about it. Then someone would say, "Laura, how's the bank account?" and I'd go on a tear again looking for the book.

Five years later, the bank closed, finally ending my torture. It was then that I learned about compound interest and how bank

Last night I had a great chat with my Mom. The conversation came around to the idea that my childhood perfectly poised me to be a writer, in particular a writer about my own life experiences, because I was so sensitive as a kid. So many of my experiences are blazed into my memory because of the tremendous impact they had.

Mom seemed surprised to hear this. "You were sensitive? I always thought that you were happy go lucky." (Yes, Mom, I will be quoting you from time to time. It's all good.)

Ah-ha. The difference in our perceptions of my sensitivity uncovered the big condition - I was "self-sufficient". As the second of four children, or maybe it was just my nature, I had an idea that with all of the hubbub around the house, it just made sense for me to figure things out on my own. And this mostly worked out okay. (It certain has come in handy as an adult.)

In school, around the house, in the yard, in sports... I never asked questions. My Mom confirms that she could never tell me how to do anything. I just thought that I should be able to figure it out on my own. As you can imagine, this proved challenging during puberty (WHAT is second base? Am I supposed to grow hair down there?) when it seemed even more important for me to know how to get through.

In second grade all of the students were signed up with savings accounts at the local bank. Seems like a good idea now, teaching about money. Innocent enough. For me it was a nightmare. How does it work? What am I supposed to do? What if I don't have any money to deposit? What happens to the money when I hand it over? I didn't ask any questions because... you know... I thought that everyone knew and that I should just be able to figure it out on my own.

A month after signing up for the account, with probably $7 in my account, I lost my little blue squared bank book. I thought it was the end. I tore my room apart in secret for months trying to find the book. Where did it go? What was going to happen to my account? I was in so much trouble (I thought). I cried myself to sleep night after night, with a pit the size of a cantaloupe in my stomach. I never told anyone. I was too ashamed and embarrassed and worried. Somehow, I thought that I was going to jail. I thought that I now OWED the bank money, as if because I didn't pay them (aka deposit money) then I was indebted to them.

After a year or so, I'd forget about it. Then someone would say, "Laura, how's the bank account?" and I'd go on a tear again looking for the book.

Five years later, the bank closed, finally ending my torture. It was then that I learned about compound interest and how banks

r perceptions of my sensitivity uncovered the big condition - I was "self-sufficient". As the second of four children, or maybe it was just my nature, I had an idea that with all of the hubbub around the house, it just made sense for me to figure things out on my own. And this mostly worked out okay. (It certain has come in handy as an adult.)

In school, around the house, in the yard, in sports... I never asked questions. My Mom confirms that she could never tell me how to do anything. I just thought that I should be able to figure it out on my own. As you can imagine, this proved challenging during puberty (WHAT is second base? Am I supposed to grow hair down there?) when it seemed even more important for me to know how to get through.

In second grade all of the students were signed up with savings accounts at the local bank. Seems like a good idea now, teaching about money. Innocent enough. For me it was a nightmare. How does it work? What am I supposed to do? What if I don't have any money to deposit? What happens to the money when I hand it over? I didn't ask any questions because... you know... I thought that everyone knew and that I should just be able to figure it out on my own.

A month after signing up for the account, with probably $7 in my account, I lost my little blue squared bank book. I thought it was the end. I tore my room apart in secret for months trying to find the book. Where did it go? What was going to happen to my account? I was in so much trouble (I thought). I cried myself to sleep night after night, with a pit the size of a cantaloupe in my stomach. I never told anyone. I was too ashamed and embarrassed and worried. Somehow, I thought that I was going to jail. I thought that I now OWED the bank money, as if because I didn't pay them (aka deposit money) then I was indebted to them.

After a year or so, I'd forget about it. Then someone would say, "Laura, how's the bank account?" and I'd go on a tear again looking for the book.

Five years later, the bank closed, finally ending my torture. It was then that I learned about compound interest and how bank

o figure it out on my own. As you can imagine, this proved challenging during puberty (WHAT is second base? Am I supposed to grow hair down there?) when it seemed even more important for me to know how to get through.

In second grade all of the students were signed up with savings accounts at the local bank. Seems like a good idea now, teaching about money. Innocent enough. For me it was a nightmare. How does it work? What am I supposed to do? What if I don't have any money to deposit? What happens to the money when I hand it over? I didn't ask any questions because... you know... I thought that everyone knew and that I should just be able to figure it out on my own.

A month after signing up for the account, with probably $7 in my account, I lost my little blue squared bank book. I thought it was the end. I tore my room apart in secret for months trying to find the book. Where did it go? What was going to happen to my account? I was in so much trouble (I thought). I cried myself to sleep night after night, with a pit the size of a cantaloupe in my stomach. I never told anyone. I was too ashamed and embarrassed and worried. Somehow, I thought that I was going to jail. I thought that I now OWED the bank money, as if because I didn't pay them (aka deposit money) then I was indebted to them.

After a year or so, I'd forget about it. Then someone would say, "Laura, how's the bank account?" and I'd go on a tear again looking for the book.

Five years later, the bank closed, finally ending my torture. It was then that I learned about compound interest and how bank

it over? I didn't ask any questions because... you know... I thought that everyone knew and that I should just be able to figure it out on my own.

A month after signing up for the account, with probably $7 in my account, I lost my little blue squared bank book. I thought it was the end. I tore my room apart in secret for months trying to find the book. Where did it go? What was going to happen to my account? I was in so much trouble (I thought). I cried myself to sleep night after night, with a pit the size of a cantaloupe in my stomach. I never told anyone. I was too ashamed and embarrassed and worried. Somehow, I thought that I was going to jail. I thought that I now OWED the bank money, as if because I didn't pay them (aka deposit money) then I was indebted to them.

After a year or so, I'd forget about it. Then someone would say, "Laura, how's the bank account?" and I'd go on a tear again looking for the book.

Five years later, the bank closed, finally ending my torture. It was then that I learned about compound interest and how bank

in my stomach. I never told anyone. I was too ashamed and embarrassed and worried. Somehow, I thought that I was going to jail. I thought that I now OWED the bank money, as if because I didn't pay them (aka deposit money) then I was indebted to them.

After a year or so, I'd forget about it. Then someone would say, "Laura, how's the bank account?" and I'd go on a tear again looking for the book.

Five years later, the bank closed, finally ending my torture. It was then that I learned about compound interest and how banks really work. No, I didn't owe them money. No, I wasn't going to jail and my family's belongings weren't going to be repossessed. In fact, the bank gave ME a (relatively) fat old check and wished me well in my future banking relationships.

I don't know what life would have been like if I had asked questions, if I didn't think that I needed to figure out everything on my own. But I bet I wouldn't have gotten hives at tax time for 15 years.

Ask and ye shall receive.