Growing up with three brothers and three sisters, I was the storyteller of the family... what my mother called 'The Liar.'

I wanted only a familiar voice, someone who knew me. Not some earlier, larval version of myself. . .

Nobody could hold the same place in your heart as your sister. Love or hate her, she was the only person who grew up exactly like you, who knew the secrets of your household—the laughter that only the walls of your house contained or the screaming at a level low enough the neighbors couldn’t hear, the passive aggressive compliments or the little put-downs. Only your sister could know how it felt to grow up in the house that made you you.

Basically, I was a kid growing up with a single mother in Brooklyn.

Growing up, I was into 'Power Rangers.'

I was a homebody growing up.