I was matched with the head of the post office in town. I kind of remember asking a question about Santa, but the answer to that has not stuck with me.

 

The strongest memory is when we talked about mail hubs, really big post offices that ship out stuff to the littler ones. I asked him the nearest spot that does that. "Bellmawr," he says. "Which Bellmawr?" I ask, knowing that New Jersey has another town, Belmar, on the shore. And he, a U.S. Postal Service employee who had surely seen thousands of addresses, didn't know where that was. 

 

It was then, as a fifth-grader schooling an adult on geography, that I knew this was the career for me. ​That I could actually be PAID, with money, to be an insufferable know-it-all with a pen. After that, I grew a few feet, went to high school and college, yadda yadda yadda, now I'm a reporter. ​

​

"But wait," you say. "You yadda yadda'd over the best part!"

​

"Oops!" I say. "If you're talking about clips, they're on the next page. Or just click here."

​

Image caption: The author talks with grandma, c. 1998.

Shirt: Lacoste, $60.00. Pants: unknown, possibly N/A.

 

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