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I remember my best friend when I was little. Her name was Mary Ellen,
but I called her Obea. Don’t
ask me why. It’s one of those crazy toddler language things.
I remember
moving from upstate New York to Vermont when I
was in first grade. My friends and I constantly dreamed up contests.
Who was the best at Red Rover? Who could save the most eraser crumbs?
Who was the tallest? Who was the fastest? For a long time, I was
the tallest girl and the fastest runner. Now, I am neither of those
things.
In middle school,
I was considered a nerd. Translated: I loved books and I was smart.
I liked French, chorus, and playing the guitar. I had my first boyfriend
in 8th grade. We “went out”. We never actually went
anywhere because we had no money and neither of us could drive,
but we “went out” just the same. Middle school was the
first time we had to change for gym class. I remember one-piece,
knit gym suits—light blue shorts with blue and white horizontal
stripes on the top. Good grief!
I found sports
during high school—field hockey, track (where I learned I
was no longer the fastest girl), and tennis. I tried out for the
basketball team, but was cut when the coach figured out I couldn’t
do a lay-up. I still can’t do a lay-up.
I spent three
weeks in France on an exchange program. I lived with a family and
spoke French all the time. After supper one night, I wanted to say,
“Thank you. I am full.” I translated it literally—“Merci.
Je suis plein,” which means “I am pregnant.” It
might surprise you to learn I was the recipient of the French Department
award.
At
Cornell University, I blossomed. I took Italian,
French literature, children’s literature, plus all the required
classes for my child development major. I student-taught a fourth
grade class and a second grade class. I loved everything about college—even
the weather. (During my freshman year, it rained every day in October!)
I didn’t want college to end, and still read the summer course
catalog for fun classes to take.
I also
met my husband at Cornell. For our first date, he called to tell
me I’d won first prize in a contest—dancing with Ken
Newman. I asked him what second prize was. Luckily, he has a
sense of humor. He’s funny, charming, and a great card player.
Unlike my first boyfriend, Ken and I could drive and we had some
money. On dates, we usually spent his poker winnings, and each time
silently thanked his fraternity brothers for being such lousy card
players.
Right
after college I taught remedial math to high school students in
rural Virginia. During my eighth grade homeroom, I wrote my name
on the board (I’m 100% Italian with a difficult-to-pronounce
maiden name) and talked about homeroom etiquette. One brave soul
raised his hand and said in his thick southern drawl, “Ms.
Iafrate, you have the prettiest brown eyes, but we can’t understand
a word you’re sayin’.” Another child asked me
if I was a Yankee.
After two years
of rock-bottom wages, I started work as a programmer for a computer
software company. I traveled everywhere fixing computer problems
and selling software—Maryland, North Carolina, Texas, South
Dakota, Hawaii, Illinois, Kansas, even Alaska in January. Somewhere
in the midst of all that traveling, Ken and I got married and moved
to California. I reunited with Cornell as the Assistant Director
of its western regional office, visiting with prospective students,
asking alumni for money, and planning alumni activities. I stopped
working when Elise was born, and started writing after Scott was
born.
I’ve written
about several topics—Navajo Code Talkers, a girl who wants
to save the Costa Rican rain forest, children’s authors, the
railroad, and a boy who had a brain tumor. I feel fortunate to have
a terrific writing support group. First, my critique group partners
read everything I write—even this bio. Next, my agent submits
my manuscripts to publishers who will (hopefully) buy them.
Volunteering
in Elise and Scott’s classrooms provides
excellent raw material for fiction and nonfiction. I use their gossip,
their teachers, their friends, their projects—nothing’s
safe! I love molding ideas into stories and articles for kids. I
write when my kids are at school. I write during my son’s
karate class and during my daughter’s tennis lesson. I think
about writing almost all the time. I usually solve story problems
in my sleep or in the shower. My desk is always a mess. My file
drawers are filled to bursting with ideas and manuscripts. Children’s
books are piled everywhere. But I wouldn’t have it any other
way!
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