When my brother Michael turned twenty-five two years ago he had this to say: "My God! A quarter of my life is gone!" My brother might seem quite the optimist by this statement (he'll have to do more than stop eating junk food if he really expects to live to be a hundred!), but believe me, he's got far less optimism than anyone I've ever encountered. In two months I will turn twenty-five. Twenty-five. A quarter of a century old. Gosh. Pretty good for someone who never thought they'd reach nineteen, much less pass it. The reason I mention the fact of my age is simple. People keep asking. I write about my experiences at fifteen. I look fifteen. And some days, when the weather is just right, I even feel fifteen. Pretty good for someone who hasn't been fifteen in ten years. Ten years. I can't believe ten years has passed since my "birth". A whole entire decade looms between then and now. Between what was and what is. I find it hard to remember things that happened then, who I liked, who I wanted to be. Just what exactly was going on in my life. I feel like I've forgotten so much, so many details have simply eroded away from the outer ridges of my brain like so much fine sand, making room to record today's worries and concerns.