The making of a child athlete

I don't think I'm biased. Well, maybe a little, but not much. I love her, that's a fact. But it's not the kind of love that blurs reality. I don't think she's perfect. She's just a typical 14-year-old kid.

But on the balance beam and on bars and on the floor when she's doing her routine, when her hair is in a pony-tail and her back is arched and her toes are pointed and her legs are straight, she isn't 14 at all. She is ageless; she is art, all liquid and grace with movements that are cool and smooth and satisfying.

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Selfless act on a summer day

They drove from New York, New Hampshire and Vermont, and from cities and towns all over Massachusetts. They came after soccer games or before football or on their way to the supermarket. Some came directly, on a glorious September weekend, when they could have been anywhere else - visiting friends, golfing, shopping, watching the Red Sox. Dozens came, alone and in pairs, young and old, male and female, to the gymnasium at Brockton High School to fill out a form and wait in a line and have their arm pricked and blood drawn, when they didn't have to, when no one forced them.

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Real friendship can validate our lives

Real friendship can validate our lives

I wanted to be Rosemary's friend from the moment I met her. I was 7 years old, the new girl in class, and Rosemary already had a best friend, Jean Sullivan, a girl she walked around the schoolyard with, a girl she invited over to her house. I tried to get Rosemary to like me better than she liked Jean, but I was unsuccessful. Then fate intervened, Jean moved and I got my wish.

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